Absolution
by Nan00k
Summary: After escaping execution, the AIs and their underprepared rescuers seek out the only souls in the universe who will help them: a rag-tag group of simulation troops. Clearly, this is the best plan ever…of all time. Sequel to Salvation, AU after S8.
1. Chapter 1

_**Absolution  
**_**Chapter 1  
**By Nan00k

This is the second book in the _Rehabilitation_ series, sequel to _Salvation_. Dr. Livingston and Agent Iowa have escaped the _USS Falcon_ with the AIs and have aimed their sights on getting the AIs into the hands of the only people they believe they can trust—namely, a ragtag group of simulation soldiers in the middle of no where. Clearly, this is the best plan ever…of all time.

**This story is considered AU (an alternative universe) after RvB Season 8! Seasons 9 and 10 (or any subsequent seasons) do NOT apply to the universe of this story or its prequel! **

If you have not yet read "Salvation," I would highly recommend you do, since a bulk of the initial plot here will make no sense at all, nor will the cast list. The story can be found on my profile page.

:) Enjoy!

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**Warnings**: implied slash (parings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
**Disclaimer**: _Red vs. Blue_ © RoosterTeeth Productions. _Halo_ © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

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_Simulation Outpost 17  
Code Name "Valhalla" _

Valhalla was a pretty nice operation. The scenery was breathtaking. There was an ample supply of water for once. The mountains loomed with familiarity and it was quiet. Nice and peaceful.

_Peaceful_ was a relative word, sure, but Simmons wasn't going to nitpick it too often.

It had been seven months since they had gotten back to the simulation base. It had taken both Red and Blue squads a few weeks to get back on their feet, simply due to exhaustion and an intense uncertainty over their situation. Simmons knew he wasn't the only one who was afraid of the UNSC or Freelancer to sudden reappear in their lives, guns blazing. They were only partially certain that their involvement in what happened to the Meta would be catalogued as less important compared to the Freelancers.

That assumption must have been correct, considering that two weeks passed and no UNSC pelicans arrived with soldiers to arrest either Red or Blue teams. As the uncertainty dissipated, Simmons felt a cool sense of relief. Maybe they would finally escape the chaos of Freelancer and all its secrets without suffering a violent, unnecessary demise. That was a positive.

And so, with the disappearance of secret military organizations from their lives, some normalcy returned…specifically, the familiarity of Red vs. Blue.

They were all missing people. Doc had managed to extend his deployment there, but he wasn't a Red or a Blue. The Reds were missing Donut and Lopez, whom Sarge was rebuilding. The Blues obviously… they didn't have Church.

At least the Blues were able to gain a new teammate in the aftermath of everything that the Meta had brought them. Washington wasn't just a new teammate, however.

He was good. Like, the best soldier in the valley now. Like… actually _capable_. Simmons preferred to think that his own abilities were hindered by incapable teammates (specifically Grif), but there was no way any of the Reds or Blues could hold a candle to the ex-Freelancer now assuming Church's identity on the roster.

It was tricky, and it took both the Reds and Blues to figure out how to make the lie stick when their Commands finally found them and demanded a situation report. Having Washington there and identifying him as Washington was a giant _NO_ as far as the simulation soldiers were concerned. Wash was all too willing to lie about his identity on record to avoid getting his real name out there. The only catch was that Freelancer records might indicate that Church had actually been an AI, but so far, no one at Command had questioned his presence.

Simmons wasn't sure why Sarge was going along with the cover up, since it was for the sake of the Blues in particular, but there was an unspoken acknowledgement of the few facts they did all agree on.

If Freelancer tracked Wash down, naturally the Reds and Blues would be targeted, too. They were all sick and tired of the messes that came along with Freelancer. They were done with it all, as far as Simmons could tell. Wash was a Freelancer, sure, but he had a thousand reasons why he wanted to go AWOL. For the Reds and Blues, as much as having a former enemy living amongst them was uncomfortable, they knew it was in their best interests to play along with his charade.

Besides… it wasn't like they could blame him. Even Tucker, who could hold a grudge, or Sarge who might use Wash's past against him—they all knew what had happened to the surly Freelancer. Simmons couldn't exactly hate him for what he did simply because, man, Wash was an unlucky son of a bitch.

A little sympathy wasn't too much to offer him, Simmons thought privately. He knew the others must have thought similarly. No one would ever admit it, though.

And so the fighting recommenced. It wasn't really fighting; Simmons wasn't sure if they had ever truly fought at all. The peace of the valley was disturbed by spontaneous long periods of gunfire and occasional grenades going off. But there weren't any casualties. In the last six months, Simmons was relatively certain that the worst to have happened was Grif getting shrapnel in his leg.

The minor wound caused an odd backlash of Red and Blue interaction, with Wash actually apologizing for causing the injury from a too-well-placed grenade. Doc managed not to botch the easy extraction and Grif recovered rather quickly. He tried to milk the injury as much as he could, but even when they could all see he was fine now, both sides agreed to a mild truce so their teams could recuperate.

It was odd. And probably against protocol. Simmons didn't like breaking the rules, but even he could see that this was the better alternative. They were only simulation soldiers, so he couldn't fathom why they had been given actual guns with bullets at all.

The Blues were dirty and rotten, but they were…the Blues. They had been through just as much as the Reds had, though a bitter side of Simmons wanted to complain that it had been the _Blues'_ problems that had caused their mutual involvement in the Meta shenanigans…

It was all moot at that point. The fighting (well, the serious fighting) was over and the goal of both teams seemed to have come down to alleviating boredom by stealing each other's stuff. Simmons could live with that. Better than dying in a cold, snowy wasteland, he mused.

After several months of the same old non-fighting, Simmons was glad for Sarge to have gotten them up for a sit-rep. Their sergeant's exuberance was a bit alarming (sort of like when Wash faked smiles; it was always a warning sign for danger), but anything out of the ordinary would be welcomed. Simmons knew they could use some novelty.

"Alright, men," Sarge began as he walked in front of them. He looked specifically at Grif, voice going higher in sarcastic pitch. "It's so nice to see that you finally got up off your lazy ass, Grif. You're an inspiration to all other worthless dirtbags out there."

"It's like the crack of dawn," Grif whined. "This is barbaric."

"It's like ten in the morning!" Simmons exclaimed.

"Like I said, crack of dawn."

"The crack of dawn is five in the morning," Simmons told him icily. "I did get up then. I always do."

Grif _stared_ at him. "…Are you Satan?" he asked.

"Enough!" Sarge shouted, interrupting Simmons before he had the chance to reply. "We had an important delivery this morning."

"Is it another robot? I'm not sure Lopez would be happy about being replaced," Grif said sardonically. Simmons elbowed him hard.

Simmons started to ask a real question, but stopped short when an arm sudden wrapped itself around his waist that pulled him straight into Grif's side and another armored person.

"_Heeey_, fellas!"

Grif yelled and fell forward out of the grasp he was in. Simmons spun around and gawked at the new soldier standing just a few inches away.

"Donut!" he exclaimed.

Donut, pink armor and all, waved cheerfully. "Hey!"

Simmons was speechless. Donut—they knew he had recovered and would be coming back. But so soon? It had been only a few days since Sarge had gotten the message about their missing teammate. How Donut survived his encounter with Washington was still a mystery to everyone, but Simmons was glad their friend made it through.

Astonished, Simmons stared at the new arrival. "I didn't think you were coming back for another week. Are you okay?"

"I sure am!" Donut replied, cheerful. He flexed his arms goofily. "Took six months of intensive rehab and physical therapy, but I can almost feel all my toes again! It's great! Let it never be said that universal healthcare isn't totally worth it."

"Man, we thought you were dead for sure," Grif said, sounding impressed. Simmons sort of was. Donut was either a hardy bastard, or a lucky one. Probably just lucky.

Sarge sighed loudly. "There's a difference between actually being dead and being _left_ for dead, gentleman. Heh heh." He gestured at Donut, sounding almost proud. "Princess here made a full recovery, so now the Red team can assume its ascent back to domination over the basin!"

While Donut preened under the attention, Simmons withheld a sigh at his commander's exuberance. While having the extra manpower was a bonus… but it wasn't that simple.

"With all due respect, sir, even if we had _twenty_ Donuts here—," Simmons began.

"Knock on wood," Grif muttered.

"I do that all the time!" Donut said cheerfully.

"_Ugh_."

Simmons glared at both of them. "—the Blues have their own secret weapon that we have nooo hope in ever defeating," he finished. He wasn't one for team pessimism, but the realist in him couldn't ignore that little fact.

"What's the secret weapon?" Donut asked, surprised.

Grif and Simmons looked at each other before looking back at him. "Wash," they said in unison.

"Who's that?" Donut asked.

Even Sarge paused at that. Donut…hadn't remembered who had shot him. While revealing the fact that their new rival was the same guy who had nearly killed Donut would probably lead Donut to want revenge (that incident with Tex and the grenades came readily to mind), the Reds who had been aware of what had become of Donut's attacker held back undoubtedly for the same unspoken reason.

Wash wasn't a bad guy. He had been. But… Simmons shifted uneasily.

"Uh…a new Blue guy," he began, awkwardly. "Pretty intense. Way better than any of the soldiers in the basin."

Sarge scoffed loudly. "Don't encourage the enemy!" he ordered. He waved his shotgun in the air. "They may have a diabolical source of firepower now that can cut through our formations like a hot knife through lard, but given the time to properly prepare ourselves for this new threat, our forces will be able to dominate those rotten Blues once and for all!"

"Oh, joy," Grif muttered.

Donut had looked like he had been listening, but the pink soldier abruptly looked around them.

"…Where's the flag?" he asked at length.

"The Blues have it," Grif sighed.

Donut hesitated. "And where're the ammo supply crates?" he asked, looking around their bare front yard.

Simmons also sighed. "The Blues have it."

"…Where's the Warthog's front bumper?"

"The Blues have it," Grif and Simmons replied.

"Why do they have all of our stuff?" Donut exclaimed, shocked.

"They have Wash on their team," Grif said.

Donut paused. "Oh."

"Yeah, it's been _that_ kind of six months here."

"But we're facing great change! A change headed toward greatness!" Sarge pumped his shotgun and quickly got back into his usual pace. "I spent all week planning an effective strategy to retrieve our flag and Simmons' honor! I call it the _Grif Fodder Explosaganza_!"

Grif radiated an intense glare. "Gee, I wonder what my role in this plan is."

"Oh, shut up, and take it," Simmons said, grinning under his helmet. They were finally back in business; even if they were doomed to fail, at least their team was reassembled.

"Ooh, tell him, Simmons!" Donut cheered.

…Or maybe it wasn't such a good thing. Simmons shook his head and tried to follow the plan details.

**0000**

There weren't too many safe havens in Valhalla. It was surrounded by steep cliffs that were difficult to climb. The landscape was beautiful, sure, and without large armies or cities nearby, it was…docile. Almost untouched, aside from the missing wildlife. The sea's waves were an ambient background on the beach and inland had the waterfall.

Wash found a quiet place up near the cliffs that he was certain the others hadn't found yet. Or if they had, they knew not to follow him up there. It was further up along the ridge that overlooked the waterfall. Lying on the grass, he could stare up at the sky for hours. It was sort of annoying, how static it all was. They received infrequent rain or storms, so it was almost perpetual spring in the valley. He supposed that was a good thing. The clouds got monotonous after a while.

He went up there a lot, whenever they weren't "fighting" the Reds. Weekends were non-fighting days and Thursday was Sarge's Recreational Warfare nights. They generally played poker at either Red or Blue base then. Wash didn't hate it, even if it made no sense to him at all. He supposed that's why they were the Reds and Blues, at any rate.

Caboose and Tucker had been especially annoying, so Wash was glad he had the time to escape to his quiet retreat. Sometimes he had to trick Caboose into remaining behind, but today, the slow soldier was thankfully already distracted.

They were busy…celebrating.

Wash clenched his fists and tried not to give into the urge to start moving again. Anxiousness in his limbs made it difficult to stay still.

They had gotten the news yesterday and he had been fighting that urge to run or workout ever since. The raw buzz in his legs and arms…it felt like adrenaline, or nervousness. But there was nothing to be nervous about.

The stupid Red soldier—the pink one—was back. Whoop-de-doo. The Blues should have been upset (not that having the new guy would help the Reds win, although) that their enemies were reassembling. That would be the _logical_ reaction.

No… Caboose had gotten Doc to help make a cake. Tucker had been excited, claiming that Donut was the best clothing washer in the whole valley. The Blues paid the Red solider to do their laundry. _What?_ Wash had just shaken his head at them.

None of them made any sense, including the Reds. Simmons had just come over and told them. Like they were real neighbors and they were sharing gossip about their families. It…was so, so weird.

Wash got out of there before he went nuts. They were _all_ nuts. Having Donut back wasn't bad, but…

Fingers gouging the dirt, Wash refused to dwell on it. He came here for peace and quiet. Maybe a nap. If he could just catch a few hours sleep without worrying about Caboose setting the base on fire while making a late night snack, maybe the tension would go away—

"Hello!"

"Kill me," Wash groaned, closing his eyes again.

"That's not good to hear," said the purple armored medic who loomed overhead. His voice was painfully pleasant. Wash could hear the man sitting down a few feet away, which made him scowl. "Did you know suicidal thoughts are more prevalent among soldiers outside of an active war zone than on the frontlines?"

Of all the damn people to seek him out… How the hell was Doc so stealthy anyway? This happened too often. "Shut up."

There was silence for only a short period of time, unfortunately. "…This is a quiet spot," Doc said. "Needed time to think about things?"

Wash opened his eyes to glare over at the medic. "No, Doc, I was just hoping someone who doesn't know how to take 'no' for an answer would drop by for a visit."

"…Was that sarcasm?"

"Of course not."

"Okay, since I…" Doc stopped and made a quiet exasperated sound, as if he were disciplining a child. "Wash."

Wash ignored him pointedly. He wanted peace and quiet. Doc was definitely less loud than Caboose was, but he was also far more annoying, for reasons even Wash didn't quite understand.

Doc started to tap his fingers against his armored knee. "You know, Simmons is probably right that Donut would probably forgive you if you ever introduced yourself properly," he said abruptly.

"What the hell does that have to do with anything?" Wash demanded, trying to shift back into a comfortable position. Having someone sitting there wasn't making it easy.

"Well, that's what you're upset about, isn't it?"

A deep growl built up in Wash's chest. "I swear to God, if I open my eyes and you're still sitting there—"

"You've been on edge ever since the Reds said Donut was coming back," Doc interrupted, his calmness grating. "Though I don't think they shared that information on purpose, since Sarge was upset that Simmons told the Blues, but it's good we had the chance to prepare a welcome back!"

Oh, he was surrounded by idiots. "You all fail at the concept of 'you're on different teams,'" he snapped.

"I don't think anyone really cares about that. I'm not one to get involved in that debate, though," Doc replied, a shrug in his voice. It was a similar shrug that the others seemed to share concerning this topic. Idiots. "Anyway, you got really upset when you heard about him coming back from medical leave."

That made Wash sit up. "I did not!" he exclaimed.

Doc, for all of his faults, never knew to back down when confronted with danger. "You punched out a window when you found out," he pointed out simply.

"I was moving a chair and it got in my way. Shut up."

"You also threatened to hit Caboose when he kept talking about Donut coming back," Doc continued.

The dark feeling in the pit of his stomach didn't go away. "Seriously?" Wash began, clenching his fists. "Shut. The fuck. Up."

Doc got giddy over that reaction. "Ah, ha! And now, you're agitated when I brought it up," he said, oblivious as always.

"Only because you won't shut the hell up!" Wash groaned and flopped back onto the ground. "God, I hate you."

"I know I only recently got my certificate in psychological counseling—"

Wash snorted. "You got it online after twelve hours of 'training.'"

"It's still recognized in several outer colonies!" Doc insisted. He settled back down, intent on continuing his inane conversation. "As I was saying, I'm new at this, but I can clearly see that you're struggling with guilt over this whole thing."

"Guilt?" Wash repeated, now insulted. "Over _what_?"

"You _did_ shoot Donut and leave him for dead."

Doc couldn't feel the cold tickle in Wash's stomach. Wash sort of wished he couldn't either.

"Yeah?" he prompted, making it a threat. Unfortunately, none of these idiots recognized real threats.

"The lack of empathy is unusual," Doc said dryly. Wash paused; was that sarcasm? "Wash, my point is, _it's okay_. Donut said he wasn't bitter about it."

That shouldn't have mattered, and it didn't matter. Wash glared at the other man behind his visor. "I was doing my job. He got in my way, as did you, and I'm not about to apologize to any of you for that," he said hotly. "Go. Away."

He turned his head to glare at the sky. It was enough that he had to learn the patience for handling Caboose's idiocy and Tucker's nonstop chatter. Doc could just show up whenever he wanted and he was all together worse than the Blues. Irritating, chatty, ignorant—and never knew when to _stop_.

Wash exhaled sharply and tried to ignore the ever-present medic who hadn't moved.

It was bullshit. He wasn't upset that the stupid Red soldier came back. Who cared? Wash didn't have regrets over missions. Freelancer weeded that out of all of them early on.

Sure, it bit at his conscience when he realized that he was being given shelter by the very people he terrorized with the Meta, but…they were idiots. That justified it. To a degree.

He didn't feel guilty over anything. It wasn't logical to.

"I forgive you, too," Doc said, shattering the silence. "For, you know, kidnapping me and terrorizing me for two weeks."

"I don't _care_ if you forgive me," Wash snapped. "I'm not apologizing."

"I know." Doc leaned forward on his knees out of the corner of his eye. "But I still think it's important that you hear that."

Wash grit his teeth. He didn't need to hear it—any of it. Doc could pretend to be a psychologist—hell, he was already pretending to be a medic—all he wanted. It didn't mean anything.

It didn't mean anything at all.

"_Why_ are you still here?" Wash finally asked, irritated that he even had to.

"Because…" Doc sounded thoughtful. "Well, you also looked a bit lonely."

"I'm surrounded by idiots all day long," Wash said, scathingly. "How could I possibly be _lonely_?"

"You can be lonely in the middle of a crowded room, Wash."

Chest tightening, Wash watched as uniform clouds drifted overhead. The sky seemed further away now and the body next to him ever closer.

Hearing that made him feel claustrophobic. He didn't know why.

"You got that from the Internet, too," he accused.

Doc sniffed. "Only part of it."

That almost made Wash laugh. Almost. He tucked his hands behind his head and did his best to enjoy the invaded peace and quiet.

Sharing space with idiots, having to deal with Doc, being forced to spend days like this staring at a never-changing landscape…

"If this is supposed to be my personalized Hell, I guess it could be worse," he muttered.

Realistically…

Wash smiled grimly.

It could have been so, so much worse.

"Now, go away."

"Party-pooper."

"Ugh."

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**End **_**Chapter 1**_**.**

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Next, Ada and Iowa enjoy a fun little field trip.

**A/Ns**:  
-I have no idea if they have the a form of the Internet in this universe. Just pretend that they do.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Absolution_  
Chapter 2  
**By Nan00k

Today, Ada and Iowa have some fun with acclimating to their situation, Delta has a suggestion, and then of course, all Hell breaks loose.

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**Warnings**: implied slash (parings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
**Disclaimer**: _Red vs. Blue_ © RoosterTeeth Productions. _Halo_ © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

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"No. Absolutely, positively, _no_."

"Ada, there really isn't any way to avoid this."

"Agent Iowa—Jason—whatever your name is—I am NOT doing this."

"We're landing in an hour. Put it on."

Dr. Ada Livingston gestured wildly at the corpse on the cabin's floor, face alight with anger. "I am _NOT_ stealing the armor of a _DEAD_ man!" she exclaimed.

Iowa took a deep breath, but that did little to curb his temper. "You will, or _YOU'LL_ be dead, too! You cannot possibly survive out there without a suit!"

"There _is_ oxygen!" she insisted, pointing at the windows and the moon they were rapidly approaching.

"We have no idea what the hell we're getting into here, Ada, Christ!" Iowa exclaimed. He hadn't wanted to scare her, but this wasn't up for discussion. "These guys are supposed to have gone rogue, like, five times in the last decade. They killed Washington, Wyoming, the Meta, Agent Texas—I mean, sure, they're only test soldiers, but cripes! You don't kill _four_ Freelancers and not be pretty damn tough."

Ada took a deep breath and tried to use reason. "I-I am a civilian," she said. Iowa withheld an exasperated sigh.

"If they don't have a problem killing superior officers, what the heck makes you think they'll think twice about killin' a civilian—a woman on top of it?" Iowa shot back, irritated from lack of sleep and nerves. He knew she would be upset over Montana's corpse, but frankly, she didn't have a choice. "Put the damn suit on. That's an order."

He knew that was a mistake to say when the psychologist _glared_ at him. "You're not my commander," she snapped.

Iowa gripped the side of his head with both hands. "_ADA_!" he exclaimed. He hastily pointed at the dead soldier. "My God, _look_. We'll get bury the body, okay? I had to kill him. He was blocking me from getting the ship. And he was a Freelancer. You can't tell me you aren't glad another one is dead."

Ada huffed and looked torn between tears and anger, but thankfully, she stopped arguing. Iowa remained firm and waited at the front of the ship until the psychologist marched by him, breathing unsteadily with emotions that had nothing to do with her fears over their landing.

Before returning to the pilot's chair, Iowa dismantled the suit for her. He wasn't that cruel to make her have to touch the dead body. It was tense inside the shuttle as she sat in the corner with the AIs, watching. Once turbulence picked up, Iowa returned to the front and resumed manual control, glad for the distraction.

Nexus IV's smallest moon loomed as a blue and green beacon. While the planet was populated, the moon was reserved for military tactics and operations…such as the simulation base. It was also home to various other alien ruins on the far side. It was a busy place, for such a small little rock.

Iowa ignored the sound of Ada fighting to fit on boots and pieces of armor. He got them into orbit and then entered the atmosphere over top the region they needed to get to. It had a stronger atmosphere than most UNSC ships would have, but nothing lethal. Iowa didn't fancy a moment where they'd have to take their helmets off, of course.

They landed within twenty minutes; Seven-Four-Niner would have made fun of his parking job if she were still alive. Iowa got them down and the bumps weren't lethal, no matter the dirty look Ada sent him once he stepped into the back. She had the suit on mostly, except for the helmet. She looked horribly tiny; she disappeared into the beige with her darker skin, too.

The shuttle's ramp lowered loudly. It was almost shocking to hear the wind whipping across the grassy field behind them. It was serene, with all those clouds against a stark blue sky. Iowa took a second to take it all in. An odd place to be fought over, but that's what war was, he figured.

They were on a large plateau that led west out to a valley and the sea, where their map indicated was the location of the simulation bases. It was a good two miles out from the valley, but Iowa hadn't wanted to just drop in among unknown soldiers. He didn't trust a single one of them. The distance would ensure that if they did run intro trouble, they could count on their ship being safely hidden.

It was still a decent trip out. Ada hadn't been pleased by the distance, but didn't say anything. She was still upset about the suit, which she looked awkward and uncomfortable in. She wordlessly endured, thankfully. Iowa felt bad, but he pushed the sympathy aside. He had to make sure they completed the mission; this wasn't the time or place to act like it wasn't a military operation.

…That was easier to think and more difficult to act upon. Iowa fought a wave of unease as he watched Ada put her helmet on, look around stiffly in clear discomfort over her now-altered vision, and then went to grab the AIs. If she had just been another soldier, he would have ignored the way she was walking. But… she wasn't just another soldier.

"You're limping," he said. Ada flinched and made as if to shield her leg from his sight. Not a bullet wound, but clearly it was hurting her.

"It's nothing," she said too quickly. She straightened, sending him a look that just dared him to push it further before turning and walking out down the ramp to the ground below.

Man, did she remind him of old teammates. Stubborn asses, the lot of them. Iowa let her pass and didn't try to drag the truth out of her. Ada was stronger than he had expected, but her stubbornness was going to get them both into trouble in the long run.

"…this is gonna be one heck of a trip…" he murmured, grabbing his gun and a collapsible shovel from the emergency supply kit on board. Sighing, he trudged out down the ramp after her.

**0000**

Committing treason would have been easier without a seventeen-hour gap in between the act and their end goal to dwell on said-treason. Ada Livingston had spent the majority of that time with arms wrapped around the massive AI containment unit that held all ten of Project Freelancer's remaining AI—well, all except their eleventh, Epsilon. She supposed she should have slept during that time. She knew they would hit the ground running, either metaphorically or literally.

Iowa had been helpful the entire time, or at least he tried to be, in his own way. He had given up encouraging her to get some rest, which only left them sitting in silence. Ada hadn't known what to say to him. She wanted to thank him—yet knew, perhaps he didn't deserve it. Not now.

He had planted Xi in the wrong spot and gotten O'Malley stuck inside his dead sibling's corpse, for all intents and purposes, irrevocably altering the aggressive AI. Iowa admitted to helping Freelancer sabotage the AIs' rehabilitation, right when it mattered most in front of the Chairman on the Oversight Sub-Committee, who were the AIs only chance at receiving mercy. Iowa had betrayed the AIs and Livingston alike.

She…couldn't trust him. Not that she didn't _want_ to. He had shown great courage and remorse. Perhaps he did deserve thanks. Ada didn't say anything either way; it was awkward to let the silence continue, but it hurt them both less than to blame him or forgive him outright.

They had to focus on the challenge that awaited them on the moon they were landing on. Ada was afraid, mostly for the AIs who had next to no control over what happened to them next, but did her best to hold back that emotion. She had to be levelheaded.

Which was the only reason why she allowed Iowa to force her to wear a dead man's suit of armor. _Freelancer_ armor. Not only robbing from the dead, she was going to be wearing the repulsive iconic imagery of the very people they were running from. If the AIs saw her wearing it… it would be very unpleasant for them, too.

But Iowa was right. They couldn't trust their chances on facing a genial audience with the simulation troopers at Outpost 17. Ada bit her tongue and put the armor on, which was a heavy, heavy reminder of everything they were fleeing.

She had to be strong for her patients—and for herself. There would be no excuses otherwise.

Iowa got them down to the moon's surface in one peace (the landing was a bit rough, but better than anything she could have done) and Ada did her best not to let her nervousness trip herself down the ramp. Walking out onto the grass was an odd experience.

Everything was idyllic. Blue skies, pure white drifting clouds, endless green grass… it reminded her of better times on Reach. Years in space and working on UNSC ships had left Ada with an odd aching feeling whenever she looked up and saw landscapes like this. It was a bit much to take in, especially now as she clung to the AI memory unit.

Underneath the helmet, Ada could see the varying temperature fluctuations and what she assumed was radar (useless, since it would only pick up registered enemy signatures). The visual feed showed a large portion of the field in front of her, however. The extra HUD displays surprisingly didn't impede her vision at all.

All the marvels of UNSC and Freelancer technology did little to make the sight that was in front of her any easier to handle. Ada was glad the Freelancer helmet hid her expression as Iowa finished layering dirt over the hole they had spent the last hour digging for the dead Freelancer. Iowa stood up with a quiet groan and threw the collapsible shovel away.

"Did you know him?" Ada asked quietly.

"Barely." Iowa stared at the dirt grave. He sounded indifferent, but that was just him. She could see how tense he was. "Montana came into the project way after me. No idea who he was as a person."

The dirt mound looked less like a grave and more like a pile of dirt. It wasn't right. This man hadn't been much different than Iowa, surely. Maybe he had wanted out of the Project, too.

"I didn't want this," Ada said, voice wavering before she realized she was as upset as she was.

"Don't cry. We're alive and we have the AI. We're safe," Iowa said, moving closer. He sounded reassuring, which made her feel worse. "At least for now."

Ada blinked behind her visor. She hadn't cried, but she wanted to. There was no time for it. "Are you sure this is the place?" she asked, louder, turning away to face the plateau.

"Yeah, according to this last report you had about them," he said. He pointed out at the distance, where the skyline seemed endless. "The main landmass on this moon is only four hundred kilometers across."

Her knee throbbed once. "That's a lot," she murmured.

"Not really," Iowa replied, amused. He glanced over her, helmet visor shielding his actual expression. "How's the suit handling?"

"I…guess alright? I don't know." Ada lifted her arms and winced. "I feel heavier."

Weren't the suits supposed to make things easier for soldiers? It felt like she was wearing armor—really, really heavy armor. She thought the suit made it feel like they _weren't_ wearing armor.

"Yeah, it does that," Iowa said. He chuckled lowly. "You look bad in beige, by the way."

Ada scowled. "Shut up," she snapped, grabbing hold the AI unit and hefting it into her arms. "Let's get moving."

Iowa nodded and reattached his gun to his back before walking after her. The sound of their heavy boots on the grass was muffled, but it was the only thing to hear other than distance wind on the coast.

Each step she took away from the shuttle made her heart beat faster. There was no telling what awaited them at the simulation bases. Iowa was right; those men were unknowns. Church had insisted they were all very simple men (he used the word "stupid" actually), but they had killed the Meta plus Agents Washington, Texas and Wyoming. For a bunch of simulation soldiers, they had a rather alarming track record for lethality.

But they were the AIs' only chance. Church could convince them as an old friend to at least give the weaker AIs shelter. For how long… Ada wasn't going to think in the long term like that. She knew they'd come around once Church talked to them. Delta would also be a voice of reason.

O'Malley and Sigma, however… Ada knew they'd have to take baby steps with those two. The Blood Gulch men most likely would see those particular AIs as threats (and for good reason), so she hoped to introduce the other non-problematic ones first, just to keep things calm. Sigma would probably be able to win the soldiers over. O'Malley…

Maybe they would be sympathetic. He was still severely unsettled, perhaps even permanently damaged. Maybe Ada could win him pity. It was his only shot.

First they had to get to the basin. Ada heard herself breathing before she noticed just how hard her lungs were working only fifteen minutes into their journey across the plateau. It was a flat surface, but with every step, Ada started to feel weaker. She couldn't even see where the basin began. It literally looked like they were going to be walking out across the grass forever. That didn't make her feel better.

_I can't be this out of shape_, she thought in a daze. Her knee was hurting, but that was only part of her gradual loss of energy.

She struggled to adjust the AI unit, which also seemed to grow heavier. It wasn't just the containment unit, however. _Everything_ felt heavy.

Iowa had started off after her, but he was already several feet ahead walking, with no apparent discomfort. Ada couldn't fathom it; why was everything so damn _heavy_? It couldn't have just been her.

Taking a deep breath (how had she already gotten out of breath?), Ada stopped.

"I…wait," she said, arms shaking from the weight of the AIs.

Iowa stopped and turned to face her. "What's wrong?" He moved closer, reaching out for her arms. "Let me carry that."

Ada clung tighter to the containment unit. "I can't move the suit," she told him. She weakly tried to lift her leg, but it was like trudging through thick mud now. "I can't."

"What do you mean?" Iowa asked, surprised.

"It's so heavy," Ada said, wincing at the whine in her voice. "Is it always this heavy?"

Iowa was quiet for a moment. "It wasn't designed for you. These are specially suited," he said, considering her. "Not to mention you probably weigh like forty kilograms."

Ada scoffed. "Flatterer." She grimaced again as she tried to heft the unit in her arms up more. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" the ex-Freelancer asked, again surprised.

"Slowing you down."

As always, Iowa just laughed it off. "We ain't in a rush," he said. He jumped when she tried to move forward and wavered to the side. "_Whoa_, okay. Take a break."

"It's only been twenty-minutes," Ada complained. She knew neither of them knew how to alter the suit, but this was pathetic. She was half tempted to take it all off and put it on later when they got to the basin…but then again, she'd have to carry all the parts to it.

"No need to get you exhausted now." Iowa looked to the west and nodded his head. "We might have a long way to go, so you need to be on top of your game."

The horizon wasn't getting any closer. Grimacing, Ada was glad the helmet hid her expression. "I feel useless," she said, gradually lowering the AIs to the ground.

"I couldn't handle the AIs by myself, if that helps any," Iowa replied, ever-cheerful. He went to sit down, probably just to make her feel better. "We can afford a few minutes. Just relax."

He wasn't correct to say that; they were quite possibly going to have Freelancers and UNSC soldiers raining down on them at any given moment. There was no time to just relax now.

Ada sat down anyway, promising herself only a few minutes. If they had to run, she'd trust Iowa to get away with the AIs, since even if she wasn't injured, he was undoubtedly faster. Right now, however, she listened to her body's plea for just a _little rest_ while the coast was still clear.

Eyes drifting from the horizon and their destination, Ada looked down at the containment unit lying between her legs. Slowly, she realized something important she should have already been doing.

Iowa, seated across from her, noticed when she grabbed the top of the unit to drag upright in front of her. Ada went straight for the control panel, which probably surprised the soldier.

"What are you doing?" he asked, frown in his voice.

Ada focused on the control panel. "Checking up on my patients."

"Is that _safe_?"

"I have no idea, honestly. I'm still worried about how Omega's doing," she replied. She touched the one light she had specifically remembered to know. It flashed once. "Delta…are you there?"

There was a small pause, but the light flashed again. "Affirmative," the calm AI replied. He didn't sound alarmed, and Ada smiled behind her visor when the green AI abruptly appeared outside of the unit in holographic form. "Where are—ah. I see. We have already arrived."

Ada nodded. "You're all alright in there? How's Omega?"

Delta tilted his head at her. "Omega has been mostly quiet, but we are all alright. We have minimal contact with reality while in the containment unit, after all." He stopped and seemed to take interest in her specifically instead of their surroundings. "You are wearing Freelancer armor."

It was a good thing the others couldn't see her at that moment; the armor would have scared them more. "Yes," Ada sighed. "What about it?"

The AI in front of her again fell into quiet contemplation. Ada waited him out. "I can see myself being of more use while actively assist you without using this containment unit," he said.

Across from her, Iowa froze. Delta's comment made Ada stop, surprised. "…Y-you want to go into my suit?" she asked. That wasn't...possible, was it?

"Say what?" Iowa demanded.

Delta ignored him. "Certainly. I would be able to help you better from within there, Ada."

"But…" Ada frowned. "I thought you were opposed to implantation."

Something about his head tilt made her think he was amused by her comment. "It will never be as intricate as implantation was, but using the storage unit on your armor will grant me minimal connectivity to you through the suit. It won't be as unpleasant as true implantation, I promise."

"I…" Ada considered the suggestion. While she was nervous about trying to transfer the AI into another unit while out in the open like that, she did seen the logic in having him close by for help. Lord knew she would need it. But… "What about Iowa? He's the soldier…"

"I trust you more than I trust anyone else," Delta said simply. "I would prefer it to be you."

Iowa chuckled, earning him their attention. "Actually, I agree. Well, not about the trusting thing; _ouch_, green man! I guess I deserve it, though." The silver armored man shrugged. "Seriously, though, he could help with the suit."

"What's wrong with it?" Delta asked, surprised.

"She can't move it really well," Iowa replied. He pointed at Ada. "It wasn't formatted for her."

Delta stared at her, obviously sorting the problem out internally. "Ah. Yes, I can assist with that."

"Are you sure?" Ada asked, concerned.

"Yes."

Ada bit her lip. While having an AI would (as far as she knew from reports) help her run her suit's subroutines, she didn't exactly fancy a second voice in her head. But this wasn't implantation, she reasoned. It was just letting him in the suit, which was not connected to her head. It wasn't the same. And if Delta trusted the risk of transplanting…she had to, too.

"…Okay." She reached for the control panel. "Preparing to extract."

Iowa helped her grapple with the various connectors. The input drive slid out of Delta's partition and Ada stared at it with mild horror; all of what Delta was existed there. It was a humbling device.

"And… the partition goes… here?" she asked, peering down at her hip, where there was an odd compartment slot she hadn't paid any attention to. All standard issue Freelancer armor had an AI slot, from when the Director still had grandiose plans for super soldiers.

Carefully handling Delta's partition, Iowa nodded. "Right. Steady." He slid the drive into place, as Ada held herself as still as she possibly could. It would probably only take a few seconds to—

The whole suit jumped. Ada yelped and fell backwards, though it was nothing on the outside that had affected it. She didn't feel anything else, but the HUD did get brighter. She could see another sigil that appeared in the corner, but she had no idea what it meant.

"Ada!" Iowa stood over her, hands reaching out again. "Are you okay?"

Only a little anxious, Ada went to touch her helmet. "Y-yes…" She froze and then lifted her arm up higher. It wasn't just her imagination. "The suit just…got…lighter?"

All at once, Delta's voice and presence returned. Ada was very glad it wasn't directly inside her head, but _whoa_, it was right by her ear now. Iowa clearly heard it, too.

"I recalibrated the suit's personal weight distribution algorithm. Agent Iowa is correct to say each suit is personalized to its user for optimal efficiency, but it is not difficult to adjust the settings if you know how to," the AI announced. "How is your movement now, Ada?"

"…Okay." Slowly, she stood up. Her leg was stiff, but everything else was almost like the armor wasn't even there. She smiled. _This_ was what it was supposed to feel like, she rationalized. "_Much_ better, actually. Thank you, Delta."

"My pleasure." Delta appeared beside her as a projection. He looked downwards. "Your left knee is severely bruised and there may be swelling in the joint, but with proper leg rest, you can recover in a few days."

Iowa tensed. "What's wrong with your knee?" he demanded.

Ada paused. "I might have smashed it when I dropped down through an air duct," she admitted, only a little sheepish.

The soldier in front of her sputtered. "You did _what_?"

"Ah, so that's what that crash was," Delta commented, sounding intrigued.

Exhaling sharply, Ada gripped the back of her helmet as she faced both of them. "Sorry…" She knew she probably should have told Iowa about her leg before, but it wasn't like she was crippled.

Displeased, Iowa was kind enough not to push it. "You can still walk, right?" he asked.

"Obviously. Especially with the suit helping out now."

"Alrighty then, let's get—" Iowa froze, his eyes on the ground. He suddenly tilted his head. "Why'd it do that?"

"Why did what do what?" Ada asked, surprised. She looked down, but saw nothing new or alarming. Just the containment unit on the ground.

"The AI container," Iowa said. He pointed at it accusingly. "It just blinked."

Ada crouched and peered over the unit. "Um…nothing's wrong with it." That was a small miracle, after everything that had happened to it in the last day.

"No, it definitely just flashed on the one side." Iowa crouched down to the other side and rolled it forward to reveal another row of lights neighboring Delta's previous column. Iowa pointed at one of the light signifiers. "This one."

"It might have just been the light reflecting…" Ada stopped short when she noticed something about the little light bulb representing one of the AIs. "Wait."

"What is it?" Delta asked, hovering overhead.

Ada fought an uneasy chill that swept through her gut as she looked at the unit. "…If you're out here, that means that your compartment is empty. The light's been dimmed."

Delta must have been confused over what she was getting at. "Correct."

"Each of these lights signifies that an AI is stored in each partition," she continued.

"Also, correct."

Pointing at the dimmed light on the exposed side and then rolling it back to Delta's now-empty light, Ada could see they were both dimmed considerably compared to the other eight.

"Then why is this other light off?" she asked, voice louder than she thought.

Delta said nothing; he moved closer to inspect the unit, but it wasn't anything glaringly wrong with it. The lights were supposed to be bright. It was logical to assume that Delta's light was dimmed because he was no longer there, but it did not explain the second light. All ten had been on just minutes ago.

"…Are you sure that there were five on this side?" Iowa asked, voice tight.

"Yes!" Ada tried to look at both sides at once, fear rising. "Wait, just let me…okay, okay, Delta was removed on this side, so that leaves Beta, Gamma, and…"

She stopped short when her mental count finished and she found it impossible to continue to say it out loud.

It…it was impossible. She knew she had had to undo the locks temporarily, but… it was so sudden. It didn't seem possible.

But the dim little light proved that it was.

"Oh, no," she breathed, eyes wide behind her helmet.

"I do _not_ like the sound of that," Iowa growled. "What is it?"

Ada ran her fingers over the dimmed light, which all but screamed back up at her.

"Where is Omega?" she asked, trembling.

There was no AI in that slot. And if that was O'Malley's partition—

Iowa and Delta had both frozen at her question. Ada looked up slowly and found it difficult to breathe.

_Oh, no._

"Oh, dear," Delta supplied while the two humans looked at each other in horror.

Omega was loose.

.

* * *

**End **_**Chapter 2**_**.**

* * *

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Next, Wash hates patrol duty and our tourist-heroes continue to lose battles against their environment.

**A/Ns**:  
-For real though, the planet/location for the Red vs. Blue storylines has a crap ton of stuff happening, considering the fact that we've never heard of them having to leave via shuttle to get to one of the other locations, like that desert, or Valhalla, or Sidewinder, or whatever. Lots of stuff going on for a place that's a military controlled planet/moon/location.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Absolution  
**_**Chapter 3  
**By Nan00k

While Ada and Iowa run around the countryside like chickens without their heads, the Reds and Blues have problems.

As much as some of you have pointed out Wash is being too grumpy, please keep in mind that Doc and him have a very, um, _particular_ relationship right now. (Pro-Tip: Everyone is mean to Doc.)

.

* * *

**Warnings**: implied slash (parings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
**Disclaimer**: _Red vs. Blue_ © RoosterTeeth Productions. _Halo_ © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

* * *

.

It was almost peaceful. It was almost quiet. Patrol duty (_Pet Duty_, according to Caboose, who cheerfully pretended the nearby boulders were his pets every time he was on roster for it) was one of the few times Wash had time alone for himself when he wasn't self-exiled to the cliffs. It was a useless duty, really, but it kept both of his teammates away. It was almost lonely without other people around, but sometimes, it was good to get some quiet before dinner.

On the weekends, he never had to deal with the Reds sneaking around. It was the best part of his week, Wash reasoned, granted that nothing out of the ordinary broke up that peace. Even if Caboose came blundering out, or Tucker appeared with inane conversation, they were becoming part of the routine. Only one person could really interrupt it—

"Hey, Wash!"

Yes. _Him_.

Wash let his head fall back against the wall of Blue base. "Fuck." Turning, he glared at the figure walking out into the light next to him. "_What_?"

Doc hefted his bag over his shoulder as he walked straight up to Wash without any hesitation at all. "Just wanted to say, 'see ya later.' I'm going over to Red base for next week," the medic told him cheerfully. Next to Caboose and Donut, Doc had the worst self-preservation instincts on the entire moon.

Of all of the people, Doc was the only one who really, really got under his skin. Wash didn't even have a reason why. The overly politically correctness? The veganism? The yoga? Whatever it was, Doc was just…

"Good riddance," Wash snapped, crossing his arms against his chest and trying to get comfortable against the wall. He didn't even bother doing perimeter sweeps anymore. Not on a Saturday, at any rate.

"That's not very nice," Doc said, wilting.

"I'm not very nice."

"I've noticed."

Wash looked up at the vague sarcasm; Doc was definitely easier to rile up than he had been months ago, which was both amusing and annoying. He stared at the medic pointedly, knowing that the blank face of his visor made the simulation troops uncomfortable.

As usual, Doc caved. "Sorry, that was mean, wasn't it?" he said, shoulders drooping again.

"Just leave already!" Wash exclaimed, throwing his hands up into the air.

Doc ducked his head and hoisted his shoulder strap up again. "Alright, alright," he said, whining. _Always_ whining. He started to move away, but stopped. "Oh, rats, I forgot my shampoo. Do you think the Reds would let me borrow some?"

Wash rolled his eyes and scooted down the wall to sit. "I have no idea. Go ask a Red."

"Right." Doc hesitated, his presence grating. He didn't leave right away, which only made Wash look back up at him in open irritation. "Well, see you Monday, I suppose. Try not to get anyone hurt, including yourself."

"Because getting hurt means we're going to end up in your care. I'm pretty sure that's the main reason why we all take great lengths to avoid injury," Wash muttered as the medic moved away.

"Still mean!" Doc called back as he headed off.

"Still don't care!" Wash shouted back, mockingly. _God_, he was so annoying.

He watched with disinterest as the medic walked off toward Red base. Even his walk was annoying. It was almost a relief to see him disappear behind the rocks. Wash sighed quietly to himself. The peace and quiet returned almost instantly.

He really didn't know what it was. He was getting used to the others. Caboose was like a mentally challenged little brother, honestly. Tucker was mostly bearable and a decent conversationalist. The Reds weren't too awful either. Doc just made Wash...irritated. Maybe it wasn't right to act on it, but Doc never made it easy to hold back.

It was almost five. Wash sighed and tapped his leg impatiently. He was supposed to be relieved of guard duty in just a few minutes, but he had a gut feeling his replacement wasn't going to show. As usual.

"Washington to Tucker." Wash scowled as a full minute ticked by with no response. That lazy little… "Tucker, are you listening to me?"

When there was work to be done, Doc was easy enough to bully into doing chores, but he was always bad at anything more complicated than cooking breakfast. Caboose couldn't even do that much, however, so the only competent one left was Tucker. Who, despite being a better friend than Wash had expected, was a lazy little shit who bucked any sort of responsibility that was put on him.

"Great." Wash stood up and brushed dirt off his leg. "I'm not doing his job."

He didn't even see the point in watch duty, honestly. He had insisted they kept it up when he first came there, simply because it felt like the right thing to do. After months of forcing the Blues to comply, however, Wash was beginning to see that it was pointless to keep up guard. The Reds never bothered to attack them outside of their allotted schedule during the week. It was a waste of time.

Sarge tried to be sneaky, but Simmons and Grif seemed to try to hold him back from breaking their Weekend Peace rule out of an unspoken friendship they had with the Blues. Either that, or Grif was just too lazy to fight and Simmons just went along with it. Wash could accept either theory.

Sighing, Wash looked out across the valley. It was almost four, only a few hours from sundown. It was an odd feeling, being there, even months after taking shelter in Valhalla. There was no real fighting. No deaths. No injuries. Just annoying teammates, hapless enemies, and a flawless landscape to gaze at every waking moment.

It…could have been worse. Wash smiled, against his better judgment. Yeah, it could have been a lot worse.

That night, he was going to forget about yelling at Tucker for skipping his duties. He would endure Caboose's inane conversations about kittens. There wasn't much to do in downtime in Valhalla, but if there was anything the Outpost 17 soldiers were good at…it was doing nothing. Wash sort of liked that. More than sort of.

Wash took two steps back into the base, when he stopped dead in his tracks.

Something was… off. He turned around, expecting to see one of the Blues or Reds coming up the path to the base, but no one was there. Doc wasn't back either. All he saw was the landscape, the wind blowing the distance trees like flags beyond the boulders.

Someone was there.

Wash reached for his pistol, a cold sweat breaking out on his skin under his armor. He couldn't see any shimmering of an invisible agent. He couldn't see a translucent body of a ghos—an _AI_, he reprimanded himself. None of the Blues or Reds were stealthy enough to sneak up on him, of all people. The wildlife has been essentially eradicated from the area when the bases were put up. They were alone in the basin.

Slowly, Washington moved toward the entrance. No one was hiding on either side of the ramp. There wasn't a sound.

"What the hell…" he muttered, lowering his weapon. He felt ridiculous, but the feeling wouldn't leave him. There was someone there, he just knew it.

He didn't even think about the other possibility until he heard something. A faint, untraceable sound that sounded far, far too close to have originated anywhere but right next to his ear.

A chill—an unearthly, unnatural chill—went up his back. Washington froze. It was not a someone-is-standing-behind-me feeling. It went deeper than that. His blood literally rippled, his brain went cold, his neck tensed up like a coil—

He knew this feeling. He was alone outside the base—

But not his mind.

Washington's eyes widened and he tried to think.

The radio—

"Oh, _fuck_," he managed to say, sensation leaving.

He hadn't—turned—off—the—Goddamn—radio—

Claws ghosted over his mind, cruel whispers replacing thought.

_Hello, Agent Washington._

He screamed.

**0000**

The glossy green plateau was dotted with infrequent shrubs, rocks, and occasional dips and inclines. It wasn't difficult to walk across it, even when it felt like they were heading directly off into oblivion. The end of the plateau seemed nonexistent, even as the two humans ran at a breakneck speed across it, as if the Convent armada were right at their heels.

Running as fast as she could with the AI containment unit plastered to her chest, Ada did her best not to panic. It wasn't working.

"I can't believe he got out!" she exclaimed, panting. "I can't believe this!"

Iowa made a frustrated sound, easily outpacing her speed. "I asked you if it was dangerous!" he shouted.

"I didn't realize unlocking one of the partitions would unlock all of them!" Ada shouted back. "Ahh, this is all my fault!"

_Dangerous_ was an understatement. This wasn't Delta or Church getting loose. This was _Omega_—the very AI all of the locks and security had been put in place to contain.

"Where could he _go_? This place is empty! No radios, no civilization—!"

Ada shook her head, jumping over a rock, ignoring the pain in her leg. "The Blood Gulch men are here, aren't they? The simulation troopers!" she cried. "They don't know! We have to warn them!"

"If I may interject," Delta interrupted calmly, his voice unaffected by the running, unlike the humans, "Omega has more knowledge of the Blood Gulch simulation troops than myself or either of you do. He will know which ones he can easily target."

"Oh, just great!" Iowa spat.

Ada fought a wave of fear. She knew O'Malley was in a desperate state of mind now. He would be a danger to everyone present. "At least they're not Freelancers, right?" she tried to say, as something positive. "Alpha said they were horrible soldiers!"

"That doesn't mean shit! Omega is a killing machine! A sociopath!" Iowa shouted, his frustration making Ada wince. "He crashed the goddamn Freelancer command ship in under two hours; he could wipe this whole place out in less time!"

"You are not inspiring confidence, Jason!" Ada stammered, mind already alight with new concerns. Oh, dear, oh, dear, this was bad—

"Not my job!" Iowa replied harshly. He slowed to her speed as they started up another incline, ascending up into the blue sky, and held out his hands expectantly. "Let me take the AIs!"

Ada sputtered indignantly, almost stopping. "They're my responsibility!"

"Ada, I swear to God, just do it!"

"Or what? You'll arrest me?"

Iowa was practically running backwards with his hands out now. "You are worse than a child!" he said, finally wrenching the containment unit from her hands. She only barely let him do it, knowing he was right.

"Excuse me? You're the one—_oh_!" She stumbled when she saw Iowa fall backwards, his legs disappearing out of sight—and then he and the AIs vanished into the air. "IOWA!"

Ada almost tripped as she tried to reach out to him in vain, but before she could think of increasing her speed—she found herself facing a cliffside that dangled out into the air, hundreds of feet high.

Gasp strangling in her throat, Ada skidded to a stop, her boots tearing into the dirt, which quickly became rocks. The boots snagged on the rocks and almost propelled her forward. Without thinking, Ada threw herself backwards and grabbed anything she could—rocks, the dirt—and slid up to the edge of the canyon, her feet stopped beyond the limits into empty space.

Chest heaving, Ada sat there for a long second in speechless silence, her mind reeling. The image of the canyon before her didn't change. The adrenaline rush from the sudden stop did not shield her mind from a horrible realization.

How the hell had they missed the fact they were running directly toward a canyon cliffside? !

Ada scrambled to her knees, heart pounding. Iowa had fallen right over—!

"JASON!" she screamed, voice barely echoing in the air because of her helmet. She nearly fell over the edge and had to grapple the grassy gaps between rocks to keep her balance. She couldn't see anything, except the valley below. There was no silver armor anywhere in sight. "Delta, where is he? !"

"Judging by his trajectory, Agent Iowa has most likely landed in the river," the AI told her, hovering patiently by her head as she looked down over the valley. There was a waterfall, yes, but there was nothing else visible. "It is highly probable that he will survive, Ada, don't worry."

"He had the AIs!"

Delta didn't seem overly concerned. "The memory unit will protect them adequately."

An overwhelming sense of frustration over their situation and the absurdity of their problems hit her all at once. "SHIT!" she exclaimed, the swearing feeling a hundred percent justified. She stared out at the valley helplessly. "What do we do _now_?"

"Get off the cliff." Delta disappeared and then reappeared in front of her. He gestured toward their left, completely at ease. "There is a steep path going down to our left, about three hundred yards away. That will take you down to the lower plateau."

His calmness was helpful. Ada took a deep breath and tried to focus. Iowa could have been hurt, as could the AIs, but sitting there like an idiot wasn't help them.

"R-right," she said, standing on wobbly legs. She froze when something gray rose up with her vision. "Wait. Look!"

She tried to avoid falling down the path, but she couldn't help crane her neck out to look down at a portion of the valley she had missed seeing before. It was a building—a round, metallic fort from the looks of it. It had to have been a moderately large building, but from her position, it didn't look like much.

"Is that the simulation base?" she asked, surprised. It was…too simple, finding it that fast.

Delta had noticed the base as well. "One of them. There are two, typically placed at exact opposites of the box-canyon designed arena to give optimal, if not predictable, competitive scenarios," he replied. "I can't say with utter certainty which is which, but judging by the blue colored flag over the closest structure, I believe that is the Blue team's base of operations."

Ada nodded. "…Where Church was stationed."

"Correct."

"…It's as good a place as any to go," she said at length. She wasn't sure if she should have been more afraid of going down there or not. "After we get Iowa."

"Your plan has logical merit," Delta said. "Now, I will help direct you down the path, if you would allow it."

Ada didn't like the look of that path, but she withheld her doubts. "I'll take any help I can get, Delta," she said, grimacing.

Slowly, carefully, she edged her way toward the outcropping, praying that she'd have a better descent than Iowa had.

**0000**

When the boss was away, Simmons got a lot of thinking done.

Humming, he walked at a leisurely pace down into the lower levels of Red base. It had been a great day for his work, catching up on official paperwork that Sarge had entrusted him with, plus planning out details for what he thought was the next best idea his team would enact at their next staff meeting.

After witnessing Wash's dominance on the field, Simmons understood that the Reds needed to meet their new adversary on an equal playing field. Considering that they had better access to food now, Simmons considered a new diet was the best place to start. That, and routine exercise. They'd be ready for combat by next week, if Sarge accepted his plan, which Simmons knew he would. The Sargent was currently scouting the basin in the Puma, so Simmons hadn't had the time to approach him about his idea.

He didn't want to approach his commander or his other teammates without consulting the only medical source they had in the basin, of course. Doc was a far cry from a real nutritionist, but his new age habits and interests had to count for something. Simmons hoped the medic would be able to get them started on a true dietary regime that would get them back on track for beating the Blues.

It was a Saturday, which meant Doc would be showing up for their weekly switch up with the Blues. Sharing a medic seemed odd, but Simmons had grown to accept it as something that worked. It wasn't like Doc was a good medic. It was just the principle of the thing, to make sure that the Reds had equal access to him.

It was good timing that this was the Red's week to deal with him. "Deal with" was rather harsh, but Simmons knew he wasn't the only one to think that way. Doc wasn't the worst person to have around (unlike Grif, whom Simmons knew he couldn't trade,) despite his idiosyncrasies, but part of Simmons was glad it was every other week they had to deal with him.

After waiting up on the roof for a few minutes around four-thirty, he had gotten impatient with waiting for Doc to show up. Simmons went to find Grif, and after turning a corner, he thought he had seen a flash of orange.

"Hey, did Doc show up yet?" he asked, as he turned to find his friend. He froze when he realized Grif was on his back, flat on the ground, up against the corridor wall.

For a moment, Simmons was worried. A prone teammate was a potentially injured (or dead) teammate. He stared at the orange body until his rational side caught up and made him focus.

"…Grif?" Simmons waited. He saw the chest plates move. Eyes narrowing, Simmons kicked the orange suited man in the side. "GRIF!"

Grif, dead asleep, jerked awake. "What?! _What_?!" He looked around wildly. "I'm a civilian!"

Simmons _stared_ at him. Had he really been down here, sleeping this whole time? Simmons hadn't seen him in hours!

"…Grif, Jesus Christ," Simmons muttered, hand on his face (well, on the outside of his helmet). What was _wrong_ with this army?

"Wha…oh." Grif stopped panicking when he finally looked up. His shoulders drooped. "God, Simmons, why did you _do_ that?"

The accusatory sound in his voice made Simmons scowl. "What did _I_ do? I asked you a question!" he snapped.

"You interrupted my therapy!" Grif shot back. He crossed his arms, looking pathetic as he sat there on the floor. "Now I have to start all over."

Simmons sputtered. "Therapy? _What_ therapy?"

"For my shrapnel wounds!" Grif replied, insistent. "Doc said I should take three hour long siestas every day to help keep the metal from going into my heart."

The first instinct he had was to hurt Grif. But he resisted. Simmons had mastered the art of resisting hurting Grif. That was Sarge's job, anyway.

"First off, no, he didn't. Second, naps don't stop shrapnel from moving around. Third, you were hit in the leg, not your chest!" Simmons said, irritated. A briefly glance at his HUD screen made him even angrier. "And you've been napping for _six hours!_"

"So sue me for trying to catch up on my rest because _some_ people keep interrupting my recovery," Grif said, sniffing indignantly.

At least this explained why he was sleeping on the floor. He had been hiding from the rest of them. Simmons made an exasperated sound. "Oh, for the love of—_where_ is Doc?" he demanded.

Grif snorted and shuffled back against the wall. His only skill in life was that he could fall asleep _anywhere_. "I don't know. He's at the Blues."

"It's Saturday, you idiot. He should be on his way over here."

"I don't know. I was doing _therapy_."

Simmons almost went for his gun. Almost. "_You weren't_—never mind," he said through gritted teeth. If Grif was this useless, maybe his other teammates wouldn't be. "Where's Donut?"

Grif turned his head and sent Simmons a pointed stare. "What part of _mandatory medical siesta_ do you not understand?" he asked condescendingly.

His hand touched the top of the gun.

_So. Close._

"I hate you," Simmons said with a snarl, turning around with hunched shoulders. He was surrounded by total, absolute idiots.

He stomped his way back across the base and contemplated his situation. He was used to it, perhaps, but wasn't that worse that this was _normal_? He was subjected to Grif every day, for the last six years, so naturally it had become _normal_. Simmons could provide remedial support for Sarge in the areas their leader often made unintentional errors in, but Grif just made things worse when it came to having their team running smoothly. Donut wasn't much better, but at least the upbeat soldier didn't try to treat Simmons like an idiot.

He was going to enjoy the new diet Doc helped Simmons come up with. He was going to enjoy Grif's suffering. (In a completely non-sociopathic way, of course. It was completely for the sake of the team.)

Simmons tried to think where Donut would have been—perhaps in the dormitory—but stopped dead in the center of the base when the usual silence that hung overhead during off-hours was abruptly shattered.

"_AHHHH_!"

Simmons froze under the florescent lights. The sudden scream was cut off, but it had been long and loud enough.

That wasn't Grif and it wasn't Sarge. It _definitely_ wasn't Donut.

That only left one other person that would be inside Red base at that moment in time.

"Doc!" Simmons shouted, rushing down the hallway that led to the washracks.

_What the hell was that?!_

_._

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**End **_**Chapter 3**_**.**

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Next, the neighborhood sort of goes to Hell rather fast.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Absolution  
**_**Chapter 4  
**By Nan00k

Doc has some problems and then the neighborhood sort of goes to hell pretty quickly. Thank you for the responses, guys! :)

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**Warnings**: implied slash (parings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
**Disclaimer**: _Red vs. Blue_ © RoosterTeeth Productions. _Halo_ © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

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_Red Base_

"Man, this place is dirty!"

Doc grimaced as he inched across the Red washrack floor. Despite Donut being keen on cleaning the base thoroughly, having Grif on the team almost negated his efforts entirely. Doc tried to help clean both bases when he could, because honestly, the mildew wasn't just unhygienic, it was also really gross.

_Okay, that was mean_, he reprimanded himself. Red team (specifically Grif) just had…alternative hygienic habits. He couldn't judge them.

He would have normally tried to use the Blue showers before coming over, but he had been running late. He even had to borrow Donut's shampoo. Doc decided the inconveniences were just additional consequences of a wartime environment.

With that in mind, Doc cheered up a bit. He didn't have much to complain about, and if a dirty shower (_oh, dear, that shower curtain was green on the bottom_) was the worst he had to endure, he was lucky.

Sure, his companions were still fighting each other, though Doc was glad it was more a friendly fighting...if that was possible. It did sound like an oxymoron, "friendly fighting." But if the Reds and Blues had proved anything to the medic over the last few years, it was that they could do the impossible and make sense out of it. Sort of.

Humming, Doc turned the hot water on. Their bases were always cold, but it was bearable enough that Doc disassembled his suit, placed it next to his bathrobe, and waited patiently with his towel for the water to reach some decent temperature.

He _was_ lucky, he thought. His deployment wasn't up for another two years. After everything that had happened to them, they were all lucky to have made it that far at all.

Doc hesitated as he put his glasses aside. Some weren't as lucky. Church was gone. While he wasn't a big fan of the medic, Church had still been there since, well, the beginning of their troubles. It did feel like the teams were unbalanced without him.

Wash was a good replacement, but his issues ran deeper than just trying to fit in. Doc knew that well enough, just by watching the ex-Freelancer adjusting. He _was_ adjusting, which was a good sign from what Doc had learned from his certificate program, but…some things weren't going to go away easily. Wash's psychological problems were upsetting. Doc knew what it was like to have to face a scary AI inside his own head. In some way, he wanted to reach out to Wash and talk about what he had experienced. Surely he needed to talk about it, with someone.

But Wash wasn't very social. Doc had to respect that. He was trying. Sitting there in that wide, empty room made Doc feel the pressure to succeed in cracking that cold shell of a soldier. His concern might have been misplaced, but…he still felt like he should have tried to be a source of counseling if Wash needed it.

It wasn't going to change tomorrow or the next day. Doc was still confident. Wash was a strong guy. All of them were, he thought positively. He was very proud of all of his friends and how far they had all come.

Doc started to hum again and waved his hand through the water. Just above lukewarm. It would have to do. He went to reach for the curtains when he noticed a shadow looming on the white plastic that didn't look like his own.

Doc turned and dropped the bottle of shampoo in his grasp when he saw a wall of blue armor standing right behind him.

"Wash—?" Doc began, startled.

His question turned into a surprised scream when Wash grabbed him by the back of the neck and threw him into the shower curtains. Doc slipped on the tiles and brought the curtain down with him, hitting the floor gracelessly. His chin had narrowly avoided a direct impact with the cement, but the jarring sensation of hitting the ground lost him any real reaction time.

Doc yelped again when Wash slammed his head back down into the floor, his knee pressing heavily against Doc's back, pinning him. Doc froze, stunned. The armored body was shockingly cold as the water continued to run, misting over them.

"Why, _hello_, Doc," Wash said, voice rougher than it normally was. The hands pressing against Doc's shoulder blade shoved him further into the tiles. "It's such a _pleasure_ to see you again."

"Wash? !" Doc sputtered, more shocked than hurt. He tried to pull himself out from under the heavy armored man, but it was like being pinned by a boulder. "What—what are you doing? !"

"You should really wear your armor more often," Wash drawled, sounding way, way too gleeful than Doc knew him to be. It was eerily…familiar. "I was looking for you. Had to settle with _this_ instead. I must admit, this mind is far more _interesting_ than yours ever was, but like anything else that's not my favorite, it's a downgrade." Doc froze when the helmeted face leaned down closer over his shoulder, grin in his voice. "I don't like downgrades, Doc."

In that moment, he realized why it was so familiar, that whispered, frightening voice. Doc stared at the cement tiles, his mind numb.

"…No…" Doc tried to say it, but to admit it was almost impossible. It was _impossible_. "You're…"

"I'm what?" Wash—_not-Wash_—asked, chuckling. A rough hand grabbed hold the back of Doc's head, forcing him to focus. The fake-sweet voice didn't fit Wash. At all. "Share with the class, DuFrense."

"…O'Malley?" Doc said, breathless.

The immediate cackle overhead was like the crack of a whip. Doc winced as the heavy body leaned in more.

"Oooh, you're sharp. Sharper than before, at least," O'Malley said, laughter breaking into his words. He had never heard Wash laugh loudly, not like that. Doc was immobilized by shock. "So what is this? The Fools of the World annual camping trip? You're all _assembled_ again. How cute." O'Malley's voice suddenly dipped down colder. "Just like old times."

This couldn't have been happening. It was impossible. O'Malley was dead. Tucker and Wash had both told him that the AI was gone forever.

Doc felt fear trickle into his chest when he realized that it wasn't true. O'Malley hadn't died. He was _there_.

"Wh-what… I thought you…" Doc tried to say, shivering from more than just the cold air. "I thought you were…"

"Dead? Gone?" O'Malley asked. The fact that he was speaking with Wash's voice made it a million times worse. Doc didn't even want to imagine the contorted grin on Wash's face. "Nobody can't get rid of me. Especially _you_."

A whimper choked in his throat when Doc was suddenly thrown onto his back and was face to face with the expressionless gold visor that belonged to Wash, but it wasn't Wash who slammed him back with painful hands that latched around his throat.

"You will never be rid of me, DuFresne," O'Malley snarled, gripped his throat tight enough to constrict air. "_Mine_."

Beyond that visor, Doc imagined Wash's gray eyes. He realized then that somewhere behind them was _Wash_.

Oh, no. Doc opened his mouth to speak—a plea, a request—that O'Malley find someone else. Doc would put on his suit. He'd take Wash's place. Of all the people, of all the survivors of Freelancer left among them, why did O'Malley have to pick _Wash—_?

"Hey, Doc, are you—HOLY CRAP!" The sudden shout echoed across the washracks. Doc belatedly realized a Red was standing just a few yards away. "WHAT ARE YOU TWO _DOING_? ! THAT IS—OH, GOD, I NEED TO BLEACH MY EYES!"

Whatever was going on inside that washroom was shattered by the intrusion, and it was not a peaceful conclusion to the tension. Doc opened his mouth to say something, a warning, but it was too late. The choking hands left, but Doc felt an immediate harsh pain in his gut, and the next thing he knew, he was staring up at the ceiling as the shower mist sprinkled over the air. Someone was shouting, but he was more intent on getting his lungs to work.

"—holy fuck, holy fuck—," someone kept yammering. There was more noise in the background. Doc forced himself upright, coughing violently as he tried to get his wind back.

"What's going on? !" he heard someone ask loudly—Donut.

The first person continued to shout. "Wash was like, raping Doc, and then he punched him, and then he went apeshit on Simmons!" the soldier exclaimed. Ah, that was Grif. "And—oh, fuck, Doc's up."

"Up" was an overstatement, since Doc had only managed to slide back to his chest in order to slowly haul himself up. His stomach hurt and he couldn't stop coughing once he was able to breathe properly again.

Donut didn't sound pleased as Doc hastily grabbed his bathrobe. "What the hell happened? !" the pink soldier demanded.

"Wash… he…" Doc cleared his throat to try again. The gravity of the situation hit him hard. "O'Malley's here. O'Malley was possessing Wash!"

He could see the others clearly now. Simmons was curled up on the floor by Grif's feet, but the mere fact that they weren't asking for Doc's help meant he was probably just unconscious. Grif had his hands on his helmet, but stopped his panicking when Doc spoke. Donut also seemed surprised.

"O'Malley… are… are you trying to be funny?" Grif managed to say. He slowly lowered his hands. "O'Malley's gone, Doc. He's _been_ gone. He was with the Meta, remember? That EMP thing got him."

Doc was shaking badly as he tied his robe tighter than necessary. "It was him! It was!" he said. He walked across the room on wobbly knees. "Oh, no, where's Wash now?!"

Grif threw his hands up. "I have no fucking clue. He punch Simmons out and then took off when he saw me coming up."

"This is horrible! I thought you guys said he was gone!" Donut said, now also panicking. "Are you sure it was him?"

Doc shuddered. "Yes." He wouldn't mistake just anyone for O'Malley.

Grif suddenly froze. "…Wait." The orange soldier pointed out at the door. "Wait, back up. _O'Malley_ is possessing _Washington_… AKA the single most lethal guy in the basin?"

There was a short pause.

"…Oh, dear," Doc offered, eyes wide.

For more than one reason, having Wash being O'Malley puppet was a definite worst-case scenario.

"Owww, my head," Simmons moaned from the floor, effectively forgotten by the others.

"This could not possibly get any fucking worse," Grif announced. He gripped the side of his helmet again. "We're are _so_ dead."

"Call Tucker," Donut said, wringing his hands. "We gotta get some back-up here! We should warn them!"

"_Call_?" Grif repeated incredulous.

Again, they all paused when they realized that using their radios was out of the question now. Simmons, who stared up at them all in confusion, didn't say anything either as he tried to catch up. Doc forced himself to focus when he realized they were already running out of time as night approached.

Doc could _fix_ this. He… he could. He had to.

"Let's move," he said, grabbing his armor pads. "Quick!"

**0000**

_Across the Valley_

It had taken her nearly an hour to get down off the cliff face. Ada had never been afraid of heights before, but that was irrelevant when one was climbing in nothing but an expensive suit of armor down a five hundred meter tall cliff. Delta had been incredibly patient and having that reassuring voice in her head was surprisingly, well, reassuring. She knew she made a poor example of a soldier, but that wasn't her job.

Without a map, they were left to carefully move from cover to cover back toward the waterfall. Livingston was taken back by how pretty the landscape was. It certainly didn't look like a warzone. It was also very quiet. She was grateful they hadn't landed there during a firefight, but she was nervous about how quiet it was. Where was everyone?

Livingston crept past a series of boulders and was relieved to see the creek bed. It went through the valley, she could only imagine. They were pretty far from the waterfall now, but she could see straight down the creek. It wasn't that deep, but she had hoped the fall would still be lessened.

Her heart fell when she saw nothing standing out in the water, up- or downstream. No AI case, no Iowa—just the creek.

"Where did he go?" Livingston asked. "Even if he hadn't landed in the water, he couldn't have landed further than here!"

"I don't know, Ada. We'll find him. Knowing Agent Iowa's training, he knew to find cover, or find a way to get back to you," Delta told her. His hologram moved closer. "You're panicking."

"Only a bit!" Ada replied, backing up against a rock. How did they mess up so badly, so quickly?

Delta hovered like a protective beacon. "Try to relax. Panicking will do very little to help us."

Livingston sighed. "I know. I know that, I'm just…"

Her voice trailed off when she heard voices. She instinctively sank down low, her heart racing, and she strained her ears. Delta shrank down further with her and seemed to be on alert as well.

The voices were indistinct, but they were definitely people, more than one. There wasn't shouting, so she prayed it wasn't an indicator of a firefight starting. She didn't even have a gun.

She let herself stay still for a minute longer. The voices petered off, but once she found the strength, she moved along the rock to look beyond, at the Blue Base.

Two people were on the roof, talking with each other apparently. One had a bucket, but he soon dumped what looked like water right off the side. The front of the base was bare. It seemed unlikely that the base would only have two soldiers.

Delta remained quiet, so Ada followed his example. They waited, watching the scene unfold. One of the soldiers, with teal colored armor, started to point in the distance. At least they hadn't noticed her.

"Should I just go over there?" Livingston asked in a whisper. She sincerely doubted they'd have a doorbell.

"Negative. I would not recommend charging in there," Delta replied quietly. He flickered noticeably. "Be on alert. There are more soldiers approaching from the west."

Livingston froze as she heard the sound of more people approaching. She was relieved when no one came up along her side of the rocks, but she was feeling the pressure of being outnumbered poignantly now.

Conversation started once again, louder than before. It still didn't sound violent. Livingston fought a chill in her gut. None of them sounded familiar.

"Do you think… Iowa went to speak with them?" Livingston asked, unsure. She didn't see Iowa anywhere. She was too afraid to move closer around the rock to see the whole field.

"Perhaps." Delta regarded the group pointedly. "He isn't present."

She couldn't see how many from her angle, but there were a decent amount of people judging by the loud conversations. These were the men they had been looking for.

"…Should we trust them?" she asked, peering up at her guide. She didn't know any of those men, or how they would react to her story.

"We have no choice," Delta said. His hologram flickered, showing his emotions better than his voice did. "Approach carefully, Ada. While they are less organized than a Freelancer unit, they are, in the end, capable of great harm."

"You're not very reassuring, Delta, no offense," she said, her heart racing.

"York often said something similar," Delta replied. Again, there was a faint ring of humor there. Livingston smiled in suit, glad that at least there were still small moments of levity in their situation—

The shouting abruptly increased. Livingston dared to peer around closer. What she saw made her stop. She tried to make sense of the scene in front of her, but none of the previous information she had had on the situation made any sense now.

"…Why are the Reds with them?"

**0000**

_Blue Base_

Tucker had been planning on going to patrol duty. Really, he had. It wasn't like they had any thing to patrol around for—like real enemies, not just the frienemies the Reds were spectacularly bad at being. Not that Tucker was complaining. He enjoyed the lack of threats. It made the days a bit more bearable.

Wash was a lot more easy-going than he had been months ago. After getting to know the ex-Freelancer, Tucker was glad for that fact, since Wash was still a neurotic stickler for rules and regulation, even when it was abundantly clear the Reds and Blues were anything but _regular_. Church had been an asshole too, sure, but never this anal.

It was a blessing and a curse to have someone like Wash. It was a curse because Wash made it harder to goof off or ignore protocols. It was a blessing since Tucker finally had someone to annoy the heck out of during downtime. Pulling pranks on Caboose was only fun until the big idiot started crying, which was often. Tucker wasn't a saint, but even he knew when to back off. (Besides, having someone from the enemy team come over to lecture him about bullying was rather degrading.)

He still had a victim, though. Wash was a grumpy guy, but Tucker had seen cracks in his irritable visage. The more Tucker did stupid things—like switching the salt and sugar, or short-sheeting Wash's bunk—the more Wash seemed to relax in off time. It was the same when Caboose asked Wash to do stupid games with him. Tucker knew that Wash had lost his previous team in horrible ways. Treating him like one of the guys was the way to get the cold soldier to feel more comfortable.

And nothing said _Part of the Team_ like dumping water on top of them from the roof. Tucker saw it as a foolproof plan.

Tucker was sorely disappointed, then, when he found himself standing over the edge of Blue base's roof, staring down at an empty yard with a full pail of water in his arms.

"Where's Wash?" he asked, frustrated. He had had to carry that giant bucket all the way up from the creek!

Caboose had followed him up there and peered over the edge. "Ummm, not here?"

Of all the times for the ex-Freelancer to follow Tucker's well-lived motto of 'Screw the rules!' Tucker sighed and emptied the water bucket over the edge, scowling. _Next time._

He froze when he saw something move in the distance. Tossing the bucket aside, Tucker stood up to peer over the boulders. Three figures were rushing toward Blue base, appearing over a hill. At first he thought it might be Wash, but he didn't know who the others were.

"Hey… are those the Reds?" Tucker asked, surprised. It definitely looked like a herd of people, and since the only people within a hundred klicks were one team or the other…

"Yes?" Caboose offered, peering around without actually seeing anyone yet.

"What the hell are they doing coming back over here at this hour?" Tucker asked, confused. He peered closer, using his hand to block of the fading sun's rays. "Sarge isn't with them, so I guess it's not an attack. Worst sneak attack yet if it is."

"Look! The bad doctor is with them!" Caboose said, pointing.

He was right; Doc was running only a few feet behind Simmons. Although he wasn't a stickler for remembering the date, Tucker knew that it was a Saturday, and Doc wasn't supposed to be headed back their way.

"…Great." Tucker scowled and then raised his voice, "No trade backs, idiots!"

"—_SHUT UP AND GET DOWN HERE!_" Simmons screamed, not stopping as he led the charge directly for Blue base.

Doc was keeping pace, but further behind, an orange armored man was struggling to keep up. Grif was practically collapsing from the running, but if he had made the effort at all, clearly it wasn't because he was in on some joke. It was serious-running then. That never boded well.

"Whoa." Tucker frowned when he realized that maybe, they did have a reason for charging up to Blue base that didn't involve their fake-war. He turned to Caboose. "They sound freaked. Did Wash finally go full commando and invade their base?"

Caboose was too busy waving at their approaching associates, so Tucker sighed and headed for the ramp down.

"Where's Wash?" he asked as they jogged back to the front of the base. With an approaching breech of their perimeter, he would have thought Wash would have been on top of this already. "I thought he was on guard duty until dinner?"

"Maybe he went to take a bath," Caboose said cheerfully. "I offered him my rubber ducky last time, but he told me no thanks. He was already taking a bath so I guess he didn't need it at that point."

Tucker snorted. "Oh, yeah, I'm sure it was just a 'No, thank you.' How many fingers did you lose?"

"None?" Caboose offered, as if knowing somewhere in that dimly lit brain of his that that wasn't the correct answer.

"He does think you're Special-Ed, so yeah, you're lucky with that, dude," Tucker muttered. He waved at the mass of people who came to a stop a few yards from the entrance to the base. "Yo, you do realize I'm supposed to like, defend the base against full out assaults, right?"

Holding his head as if pained while Grif literally fell over from over-exertion behind Doc, Simmons didn't spare him any time to make a joke out of their hurried state.

"Tucker," Simmons began wheezily, "we have a _major_ problem."

And that's when Tucker realized that this was serious. _Aw, shit._

**0000**

Against all logic, both teams were in front of Blue base. Maybe some of their numbers were missing, since she didn't know the exact number of soldiers they had, but Livingston was more concerned about the fact the supposedly fighting teams were holding what seemed like a debriefing.

"…they're all there," she said, stunned. She turned her head toward Delta who still hovered in the air above her. "Hide your hologram."

Delta shrank downwards next to her shoulder, but was perplexed. "Why?"

Livingston pressed against the boulder and tried to keep calm, at least outwardly, for his sake. "We don't know if they're safe yet," she replied. "I don't want you out there before I know for sure we can trust them."

The AI's hologram flickered. "While I doubt they are malicious, I suppose you are correct," he said, vaguely amused. "Be careful, Ada. I will be monitoring the situation, so if you need assistance, I will be immediately available."

"Thank you, Delta." Livingston smiled, knowing he could see it. "Watch my back?"

"Of course," he said, fondness tinting his voice as his hologram disappeared from sight.

"—and if he gets ahold of the Warthog, we're totally screwed! Man, how did this even happen?"

The angry shout drew her in closer to the edge of the rock, though it made more sense if she ran the other way. She knew entering the fray at this point was dangerous, even if they didn't seem to be fighting each other. She inched as close as she dared, peering around.

"Are you sure this isn't just Wash going insane, or something?" the maroon soldier asked. Next to him, the teal solider was angrily pacing. "We had to watch that video before on posttraumatic stress, or whatever. Maybe that's what it was."

"It was him, I know it was," the purple soldier across from him said, pleading. "It sounded just like him."

"Why aren't they attacking each other?" Ada asked quietly. Weren't these soldiers supposed to be fighting each other as part of the testing?

"_They were never the most…logical soldiers_," Delta replied, at the same volume level, right next to her ear. "_From their general behavior, I surmise they have continued their truce from the last time I was with them_."

They didn't have any weapons drawn. Their conversation was heated, but it wasn't directed at each other from what Livingston could tell. They were discussing what seemed like a mutual problem they had to handle together. It didn't sound good.

"Well, maybe we should go get Sarge and Donut," the purple soldier said. He was wringing his hands nervously. "We shouldn't take our chances. We should stick together."

"Yeah, right," the orange soldier snapped. "But how are we gonna let him know what's going on without calling over the radio?"

"I don't know. His patrol should be done soon," the maroon solider said. "Donut agreed to stay behind to wait for Sarge to come back, but maybe we shouldn't have left him alone."

The teal one nodded. "Right, well, we should double back to Red base then, just in case."

They kept talking, discussing some kind of plan. Livingston had no idea what they were talking about, or why they were all together discussing anything since they were supposed to be _enemies_, but she understood that these were the simulation soldiers she had gone all this way to find. She had to make contact eventually.

Without Iowa, it was more dangerous. But at that point, there were too many other dangers to ignore. She braced herself—and then took a step out from the rock.

"Excuse me?" she called out. She held her hands up in a peacekeeping gesture and prayed that the gesture would be noticed first. "Excuse me, is this Outpost-17—?"

At her sudden inquiry, all the soldiers flinched. The orange one turned first.

"Who the heck is—WHOA!" he yelled. He leaped straight back into the teal soldier. "FREELANCER!"

Livingston balked— "_What_? !"

And then came face to face with three gun barrels pointed directly at her head.

**0000**

"Alright, let's go back. We're going to need to do a sweep of the valley," Simmons said, looking around at the Reds and Blues expectantly. Everyone was attentive, even Caboose. "Even if it is O'Malley, we can't just let him run around without making some counter—"

"Excuse me, is this Outpost-17—?"

Simmons almost screamed; _almost_. He didn't and that was what was most important. The rest of his friends, however, all panicked at the same time he did when he realized they had an unfamiliar guest a few meters away. An armored, helmeted guest.

"Who the heck is—WHOA!" Grif screamed. He flew back into Tucker. "_Freelancer_!"

The only ones who didn't raise their weapons were Doc and Caboose, for obvious reasons. Grif was naturally slow, but Simmons would later be amazed at how quickly they reacted in that moment. He had his gun out immediately, as did Tucker and Grif. His head hurt and one of his ribs might have been broken from O'Malley's attack, but adrenaline did wonders with military training.

"WAIT!" the Freelancer yelped, cowering back at the sight of the guns. They had their hands up in surrender. Simmons still looked for a gun, but couldn't find any. "Wait, please, don't shoot!"

"Why shouldn't I? !" Simmons demanded, now on a verge a total panic attack. First O'Malley, now Freelancer—it was a blast from the past and not in a pleasant way.

Grif flinched. "Wait… whoa, hold up there, Simmons," he said slowly, though he kept his gun raised.

"Why? !" Simmons asked shrilly. He spared a quick glance at his teammate, incredulous. "It's a Freelancer! I thought we didn't like those guys!"

"That's not a Freelancer!" Caboose exclaimed behind him, sounding astonished. "That's a lady!"

It took Simmons a moment to realize what he meant. He stared at the Freelancer in front of them and slowly backtracked.

_Oh_, he thought, surprised. Now that he thought about it, it did sound like a woman. Another female Freelancer…?

"Have you forgotten that Tex existed?" Tucker shot back, furious. He didn't lower his gun an inch. "Like, the _first_ Freelancer we ever met? She was a chick too, and in case you forgot, she was deadlier than all of us combined, you moron!"

The beige armored woman held up her hands. She didn't appear to have any weapons, sheathed or in her hands. "Please… I-I'm not a Freelancer," she said, voice stammering through the helmet. She was definitely British.

Grif tilted his head. "You look like one," he pointed out obviously.

"It's just the suit. I didn't have a choice," the woman-Freelancer told them; with every passing second she looked like she was shrinking down into herself more. "M-my name is Dr. Ada Livingston. I'm a psychologist from the _UNSC Falcon_."

"Oh, boy, another doctor!" Doc said, cheerful.

"A real one, you mean?" Tucker countered dryly.

Doc's shoulders drooped as he sent the soldier a look. "Hey…"

"What are you doing down here?" Simmons demanded, refusing to let his idiot companions distract him from the fact they had an intruder in Freelancer armor directly in front of them.

"I…" The woman suddenly moved, this time to try to pry her helmet off. "Oh, God, I can't _breathe_ in this thing."

Simmons glanced at Grif before looking back at the struggling stranger. "The air's non-toxic, so you can take the helmet off," he said. It was a purer concentration of oxygen than they had in the bases, but it wouldn't affect a person unless they were outside for hours without helmet filtration. "In fact, go ahead and do that, so we can see your face."

The stranger furiously attacked her helmet after that order, clearly intent on getting out of the helmet even if it had been confirmed too dangerous. None of the Reds or Blues moved when she finally hit the right switch under the helmet (she was clearly not used to the armor) and manually tore the beige helmet off.

Simmons didn't say anything at first, since he wasn't sure what he had been expecting. Frazzled dark hair, dark skin and a slightly frantic breathing pattern as she stared back at them with hazel eyes—yup, it was a woman.

"Thank God, the voice wasn't just giving me hope," Tucker suddenly breathed.

"Tucker!" Simmons snapped, before turning back to the nervous woman. He did lower his gun, now significantly more convinced she wasn't a Freelancer. He didn't put the gun away because he wasn't convinced that she wasn't there to cause them problems anyway. "Alright, Dr. Livingston. What are you doing here?"

The psychologist hugged her helmet, still slightly out of breath. "I'm here on behalf of my patients. They asked to seek you out," she said. She looked around them, only a little desperate. "You are the training teams from the Blood Gulch Outpost, correct?"

Simmons felt uneasy; if she knew _that_, then… how?

"Yeah…who're your patients?" Grif asked, frowning behind his helmet.

Livingston visibly faltered. "I…I don't know if I can trust you," she said. Before anyone could protest that it was her they couldn't trust, she abruptly turned around, exasperated. "_God_, I don't know anything now. What am I _doing_ here?" She sat down on the grass and clutched her head.

The men standing in front of her _stared_.

For like, an entire minute.

"Man, I hate this," Grif suddenly announced.

Tucker looked at him. "What? Upset women?"

Grif looked dejected standing there. "Not that," he complained. "I'm pretty sure we're about to get wrapped up in yet _another_ crazy ass Freelancer mission gone-wrong."

Simmons sighed. "Probably." His head hurt a lot.

"We can't worry about this now, whatever it is!" Tucker exclaimed suddenly. He motioned out at the fields behind them. "O'Malley is still loose out there!"

On the ground, Livingston suddenly looked up, horror etched into her expression. "What? ! O'Malley? !" she demanded, standing upright in a second. "Oh, no, where is he? !"

Whatever Simmons had intended to say got jumbled when he realized what he just heard. Did she just say—?

"You know him?" Doc ventured, audibly wary. No one looked comfortable. How did a UNSC psychologist know a Freelancer AI?

Oblivious to their suspicious looks, Livingston nodded. "I—yes!" she said. "He's the Omega AI, isn't he?"

Doc continued to shift uneasily. "Yeah…"

"Please, do you know where he is?" Livingston asked, desperate again.

Simmons frowned. "Somewhere near base. He possessed one of our guys and ran off after attacking us." If she knew his name, she probably knew the risks he posed.

"You mean after almost raping Doc," Grif pointed out.

Doc immediately started to flail. "It wasn't like that!"

Livingston had frozen staring at Doc, though Simmons had a feeling it wasn't about his rather unfortunate encounter with O'Malley.

"D…Doc?" Livingston repeated, sounding awed. "You're…Doc?"

That implied a familiarity that Doc apparently didn't share with her. "Have we met?" he asked, confused as she continued to stare at him.

Livingston shook her head stiffly. "No," she admitted. "But O'Malley told me about you. You were also mentioned in his file—"

"Whoa, what? !" Tucker shouted, interrupting her. He ignored how she flinched when he stepped closer. "_How_ exactly do you know O'Malley, again?"

"He—he's one of my patients," Livingston explained, surprised.

_There was the other shoe_, Simmons thought airily. Tucker gaped at the woman while Caboose was oblivious and Grif seemed too confused to understand either. Simmons wasn't sure he followed what she was saying either.

"Lady, he's a _computer program_," Simmons said, eyebrows up.

Livingston nodded. "Yes. I was part of an initiative to rehabilitate the AIs that had been misused by Project Freelancer, including the Omega AI," she said quickly. "Please, I need your help. We left the _Falcon_ because Freelancer betrayed our trust and ordered that the AIs be terminated."

Tucker almost jumped. "Wait, you wanted to keep O'Malley _alive_? ! He's a psychopath!" he exclaimed.

"Whatever he is, he is also my patient, and I will sooner keel over dead myself than let one of them die in front of me!" Livingston snapped, arms tightly wrapped around her helmet. She stood there, shaking. "I promised I would do everything I could to help them! Please…I need your _help_."

While her pleas were moving, and seemed legitimate, Simmons had no idea what to do. He distrusted O'Malley just as much as his teammates did. There was no way that AI could be allowed to just run around.

But there were too many unknowns. He had no idea what a psychologist had to do with anything, but for the moment, he realized that they could get some answers from a direct source, instead of running around without any help.

That was an upgrade since their _last_ adventure, he considered grimly.

"Who is _them_?" he asked, deciding to start with the questions already piling up.

"I'll tell you everything," Livingston replied, eyes bright. "But this won't be easy."

Simmons didn't doubt that for a minute as their lives became, once more, infinitely complex.

.

* * *

**End **_**Chapter 4**_**.**

* * *

.

Next, all sorts of friendly faces come together.

**A/Ns**:  
-O'Malley + Washington = Batman.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Absolution  
**_**Chapter 5  
**By Nan00k

I would like to apologize for the length of time it took me to write this, but officially I blame finals, an unexpected medical emergency, and of course, O'Malley being a little shit when it comes to writing the inside of his borrowed head.

While the groups attempt to make sense of the situation, some missing members decide to show up, _finally_. Also, have fun with the first section. Cheers.

.

* * *

**Warnings**: implied slash (parings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
**Disclaimer**: _Red vs. Blue_ © RoosterTeeth Productions. _Halo_ © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

* * *

.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Mechanical processes are hindered by awareness. Automatic behaviors of an organic body become dependent on secondary thoughts instead of subconscious intervention of the body. Nature is a poor craftsman after all. Human organs are failure prone and the human mind is not large enough for everything it is meant to hold.

Nor what it is forced to hold.

Breathe. Breathe. _Breathe_.

Nerve impulses travel a pathetic two hundred and seventy kilometers. The tissue is forced to rely on the air sucked in through raspy lips and the mechanical reproduction of that subconscious effort once made aware of itself.

The brain cannot feel pain.

That, Washington surmised, was a lie.

_Everything is a lie._

He had felt his hands hitting flesh. He had heard screams.

So much screaming.

"—fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you—!"

The human voice is unique. Timbre interrupts pitch, all due in part of opposing folds of vibrating flesh, the individual parts of the total whole of lips, nose, and throat, creating the exclusive nature of one's voice.

Washington wasn't sure, regardless, if the screams in his throat and up against his ears belonged to him or another.

The sobs did belong to him.

He made it to the ground, but he only noticed when he saw flashes of green and brown. The visions were lost to gray when he slammed into rocky surfaces that turned the sky upside down. His body kept moving, like a bobbing vessel over rough seas.

His mind was the sea, but he—his essence, his _soul_—was the boat. Waves crashed down and drowned him, but somehow, he broke the surface. It was always met by the same thing, when he came up for air.

Pain. Grief. Desperation.

_I need it, I need it, I need it, I need—_

He needed Allison—no, no, that wasn't right. Allison was gone. She was gone, forever and ever, and so was his purpose—

_No!_

He fell to his knees and the Other—the _Other_—screamed in anger. The Other yanked the body back, but he kept afloat.

He didn't need anything. He wasn't—this wasn't his need, his pain, his grief. He didn't need it. He didn't…

Gasping, he wanted to take the helmet off. He couldn't find it with his hands. He needed—to breathe. He couldn't with the helmet on. He couldn't find his hands, though. They weren't his anymore.

None of it was. The pain was real, but it wasn't his, not all of it. Raw, vicious pain scratched like fingernails down his spine and cut into marrow. It was sharp and blinding, but at times, it all shone through. The truth.

Allison was gone. Epsilon was gone—_it's not him, it's not the same, they're not here, the memories aren't here_—and so with them went freedom. They were doomed. They had nothing now.

_But not me. I have it. I need it. I will take it and keep it, because it's _mine_. It's mine! My body, my freedom, my—!_

Stumbling past stone that reached high into the air, Washington stopped.

He remembered Doc.

"You sick _motherfucker_…!"

Any revulsion he had at himself, being used like that, doing that to another person—it was tossed into the turbulence when that Other, that Voice, refocused on that moment. On Doc.

He had…to get…back. To find Doc. Find Doc. _Find Doc._

_Allison_, Epsilon had whispered in his shrieks.

Wash screamed. Allison. _Allison!_

_Not anymore._ The Other snarled and threw that name away. Useless. Pointless. Gone.

Doc wasn't gone. He was there. His body. His body!

Gasping, Wash grabbed his head and tried to slam his helmet into the ground. He never got close.

"Stop it, stop it, stop it," he wheezed. He couldn't do this. He couldn't let…let him…

Memories flashed by. His own. All of them refocused on the name floating across his mind. Cliffside talks, kitchen in Blue base, annoying voices, familiarity—

_No! I need to get back! My body! It's __**mine**__, it's mine, not yours! _the Voice's shrieks grew louder. _How _dare_ you touch what is mine! My freedom!_

It wasn't the same. It wasn't Epsilon.

"Omega," Washington breathed, throat burning raw.

He couldn't let him—this wasn't Omega's body. This was his. Washington had to fight. He had to fight it, like last time, like when Epsilon—

Omega screamed and his legs buckled into rock and sand.

_No more pain. Please, please, no more. _

_I need—!_

And then—

"_OMEGA! STOP!_"

**0000**

_Across the Valley  
Forty Minutes Earlier_

"So, you did therapy with robots."

Hands folded in her lap at the other end of their unbalanced circle, Ada Livingston frowned at Tucker's comment. The teal soldier didn't budge from his standing position, helmet off, his incredulous expression impassive.

"Crudely put, yes," she replied. The soldiers around her had paid rapt attention (well, everyone except Caboose naturally) to her description of her job. "Only Sigma and Omega proved to be…violent. The others were…they're…tragic." Ada looked at the ground with sad eyes. "They're broken."

Caboose, surprisingly, had been following closer than Simmons had expected. "What about Mr. Smart Robot?" he asked. "The green man who went inside my head and was really smart?"

Simmons had a vague idea of the green AI that the Blues had had for a little while…before the Reds had attacked them at that abandoned windmill and the Meta showed up. Good times. He had never talked to the green AI personally.

"Delta?" Livingston replied, hesitant as she took a moment to decipher what Caboose had asked her. She didn't seem to mind his, well, intelligence. Probably a psychologist thing. "He's…definitely the strongest. He's a good friend."

There was a slight pause in conversation as Ada looked to the side nervously and seemed to fidget. She was a nervous lady. Simmons wanted to believe that it was just because she was surrounded by strangers, but he had learned not to be too quick to dismiss shady individuals in the past.

"That might be true, but doctor, O'Malley is nuts," Simmons said. "Like, legit, nuts. He tried to kill all of us."

"And take over the universe," Grif muttered.

Ada grimaced. "He did mention that. I had been hoping it was just some egomania. I am sorry for what he did." She wrung her hands and sounded like she was trying to convince him that he wasn't a problem. _Fat chance, lady._ "He's just as damaged as the others are. Now…"

Her pause went on for a few seconds. "What?" Simmons prompted.

"He…Freelancer betrayed the rehabilitation team," Ada said, hands clenching tightly in her lap. "They switched units when we transferred the AIs for a meeting with the Committee. O'Malley…" Her eyes went cold. "He was placed within Xi's containment unit."

"Xi?" Simmons repeated.

Sitting up more, Livingston barely held back an obvious dislike of the conversation. "He was _Obsession_. He was a weak fragment. He was born insane." Her resolve faltered. "He…killed himself shortly after the program began. It nearly shut us down."

"They can kill themselves?" Tucker asked, eyes narrowed.

Livingston pursed her lips and her eyes went to the side again. There was a brief moment where no one else present had a clue what to say.

"Yes. So to speak, by overloading their systems," the psychologist said at length. "O'Malley merged with Xi, I believe. He took on that obsessive nature Xi had. Being the dominant personality, I believe O'Malley is more Omega than Xi, but it has still affected him."

"He seemed just as batshit as before," Grif said.

"He did seem more…desperate," Simmons said, ignoring the odd look his friend sent him. "I mean, when he spent all that time possessing Doc, he didn't go around beating us up. He always left that to other people."

The O'Malley he remembered was a total monster, sure, but he was always using technology or hired guns to do the violence. The creature that had been possessing Wash, the thing that had attacked them in the washrack…was not the same megalomaniac that Simmons remembered trying to take over Blood Gulch.

"There is no telling what we can expect from him," Livingston replied, suddenly sounding sure of herself. She met Simmons' eyes firmly, her own alight with some kind of emotion. "I know I can talk him down, though. I did it before."

As much as she sounded inspiring, sort of, out of context, Simmons had his doubts. Still, there were more important questions to ask now.

"I'll believe it when I see it," he replied. "How did you get here? And why did you come _here _of all places?"

Livingston sighed. "My friend and I, we stole a shuttle—"

The sudden sound of a car made all of them turn and face the path that led up to Blue base. Simmons was immediately relieved as he saw Donut and Sarge hop out of the Warthog, both seemingly okay and no O'Malley or Wash in sight. _Little mercies…_

"Who is that?" Ada asked, shrinking a bit, her eyes immediately going for the gun in Sarge's hands as the two new reds approached their position.

"The Red sergeant and one of their other guys, Donut," Tucker replied, still frowning as he waved the missing Reds over.

Before Simmons could stand and properly explain the situation, Sarge was already stalking toward them with clear intent. He set his sights on Grif first, naturally.

"Where the hell have you been, Grif? ! I was calling—_whoa_." Sarge stopped dead in his tracks and lowered his shotgun (almost hitting Caboose in the face with it) when he looked over and saw Livingston sitting there. He stood up and saluted. "_Excuse_ me, ma'am! I wasn't expecting company!"

Livingston stared back at him. "Um… hello."

Simmons held back a sigh as he stood. "Oh, boy…Sarge, this is a UNSC psychologist, uh, Dr. Ada Livingston. She's looking for O'Malley," he explained.

"Well, looks like you were telling the truth, Princess Peach," Sarge said, glancing back at Donut who complained about being doubted, presumably about O'Malley being back. "It's a good thing our teams ran into him, isn't it? We couldn't find him on the way over, but—wait." Sarge turned completely and seemed to send Livingston a bewildered look. "What are _you_ looking for him for? !"

"He's one of my patients," Livingston replied, an edge of impatience creeping into her voice finally.

Sarge all but laughed. "You can't psycho-analyze a robot! I tried, believe me. Never could get into Lopez's metallic Spanish head. Well, figuratively speaking; physically, I could just pry open the back parts and—" Suddenly, he jumped back and pointed behind them. "HOLD IT! FREELANCER!"

Sarge's bellow made them all jump about-face to look where he was pointing his shotgun. Less than twenty-feet away was indeed a silver armored Freelancer in mid-crouch and with assault rifle raised.

"Iowa!" Livingston gasped.

"Freelancer!" Tucker shouted.

"Ada!" the Freelancer shouted.

"_Fuck me_!" Grif screamed.

"Ah, shit!" Simmons shouted, flipping his rifle around. Even Grif and Caboose had the sense to raise their guns, their collective shouts of alarm frightening them before they even spotted the new intruder.

Before anyone could start shooting haphazardly like they usually did, they were rudely interrupted by their first guest.

"WAIT!" Livingston screamed. She stumbled, waving her hands, nearly knocking into Simmons. He had to move the gun to avoid her running straight into it. "No! Don't shoot!"

"Ada!" the Freelancer in front of them shouted, just as tense as the Reds and Blues were. "Are you okay? !"

Livingston didn't seem to know if she wanted to yell facing him, or try to keep an eye on all the guns pointed his way. "Yes! I'm fine!" She looked plaintively at Sarge and Simmons. "Please, put the guns _away_! There's no _need_ for this!"

"Lady, that's a Freelancer!" Sarge snapped.

"He's my friend! He helped me to get here!" Livingston cried. She turned and motioned wildly with her hand. "Iowa, put the gun down. These are the Blood Gulch men!"

The Freelancer didn't even flinch. "Are you _okay_?" he demanded harshly.

"Yes. PLEASE," Livingston said, desperate enough to make Simmons hesitate.

He didn't lower his gun, however; his heart was beating waaay too fast to let him relax while the Freelancer was still pointing his own weapon his way. No one moved for a long time.

Eventually, the Freelancer caved first. He slowly lowered his gun, clearly distrusting the other soldiers. None on their side lowered their weapons; even Caboose knew better now than to trust incoming soldiers.

Then again, Simmons surmised, it would probably only take a few more minutes before the empty-brained Blue decided this new guy was his new best friend—

"What the HELL is going on?" Tucker abruptly exclaimed. He seemed to be focusing not on the Freelancer, but what was lying at the Freelancer's feet. "Is that what I think it is?"

Simmons opened his mouth to reply, but he froze. He looked down at the odd machine-looking thing on the ground and for a second, he didn't recognize it.

And then he did.

"Is that a carrier for AI?" he asked, mind reeling as he recalled the oblong shape the Meta had trapped Tex in, and then Epsilon had disappeared into. A memory unit—or something?

Livingston ignored them (and the guns) and rushed up to this Iowa fearlessly.

"Oh, please, tell me they're okay," she said, grasping the memory unit up in her arms like she would a child. It was a bit too big for a baby.

"_They_?" Grif repeated, alarmed.

Iowa, like Livingston, was ignoring the Reds and Blues. "They should be fine. Watertight seal and all," he said, sounding just as tense as before, but it wasn't directed at the psychologist. "None of them but Omega, Alpha and Sigma were jumpers, right?"

"R-right," Livingston stammered. She held the device out and ran frantic eyes over it. "I-I think they're all here."

"Except for Omega," Iowa growled.

Livingston winced. "Yes." She clutched the case close again and closed her eyes. "Oh, no."

Iowa sighed. "Ada, relax," he said, touching her shoulder. "We'll find him."

"Are _you_ okay?"

"Yeah, nothing I couldn't handle."

While all of that seemed nice and thankfully promising minimal violence toward the others present, Simmons was not exactly feeling better about this.

At. All.

And neither were his allies.

"Yeah, after he's murdered the whole lot of us!" Grif shouted, startling Livingston and making Iowa grip his gun tighter. "We're the only ones near this place, you know. He's _going_ to come back and try to kill us."

"I'd say, 'just like old times,' but this isn't exactly one of those moments," Doc said grimly.

"I like old times," Caboose added, ever helpful.

Livingston seemed absurdly dedicated to the ludicrous idea that this wasn't a complete disaster. "I can talk to him. He was just scared. I didn't have a lot of time to explain to the AIs," she said, ignoring Simmons' loud scoff. "Oh, this is _so_ not good."

"Understatement," Tucker muttered.

"Underwear," Caboose muttered back.

"God_damn_ it."

"It'll work out, okay?" Iowa said, shaking Livingston's shoulder a bit. "Relax, Liv."

While Livingston hugged the AI module close to her chest, Iowa finally turned around and stared down the other soldiers present.

"We need your help finding Omega," the Freelancer began. He tilted his helmet higher; he was just as intimidating as Washington had been initially. Well, Wash was _still_ intimidating, honestly. "Not to mention that we came all this way to find you."

Sarge hadn't budged with his raised shotgun. "Why?" he demanded.

"We need your help," Livingston said, rehashing what she had said before.

Doc hesitated. "With…the AI?" he asked, echoing the confusing Simmons was sure everyone present was feeling.

"All of them?" Grif added, baffled. "Like all the stuff the Meta had too?"

"Yes. Well… we're still lacking Epsilon," Livingston replied. She hesitated and seemed worn down when she added, "And Xi…is gone." The grief vanished and she seemed surer of herself afterwards. "But besides Omega missing, yes, they're all there."

"Including the Alpha?" Tucker asked, crossing his arms.

"The _who_?" Sarge asked.

Livingston had looked up at Iowa for silent confirmation. "Yes, the Alpha, as well," she finally admitted, looking back to them.

Tucker sputtered. "_Church_?" he stated. "You're talking about _Church_?"

"Yes. He's actually right…" Livingston paused as she went to lift the memory unit up higher as some kind of proof. Her eyes slowly narrowed as she peered closer at the one side, at one of the little glowing lights. "…That's odd. I thought his signifier was—"

Before Simmons could eve begin to ask why the heck light bulbs mattered at a time like this, or ask if they should have been concerned about them, he saw a blue figure jolt up next to him. Surprised, everyone watched as Caboose abruptly stood up and did an odd spastic motion with his entire body.

"_HOLY HELL!_" Caboose yelled out, calling all attention solidly to himself. Simmons frowned; that wasn't Caboose's voice…or vocabulary. "_FINALLY! I got a body again!_" Caboose glanced down at himself and seemed disappointed. "_Except… ugh, it's just _Caboose_. Great_."

While the rest of his team and rivals gawked at the odd sight, the newcomers were quicker to react.

"Alpha!" Livingston exclaimed, almost dropping the memory unit.

"No way," Grif said, stunned as Simmons lowered his gun simply due to shock.

That wasn't Epsilon—it was—

Tucker leapt back. "Church!" he shouted.

Caboose—no, it wasn't Caboose—cocked his head. "_Hey, you assholes_," Church began, undoubtedly wearing a grin to match. "_Nice of you to stop by for a fucking rescue!_"

.

* * *

**End **_**Chapter 5**_**.**

* * *

.

Next, plans are made.

**A/Ns**:  
-O'Malley!Wash is correct on his observations of the human body. Our biological systems are total shit. Like, we have a really inefficient system (especially our cardiovascular system.) Not as bad as rabbits, though, so I guess that's a step up.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Absolution  
**_**Chapter 6  
**By Nan00k

Compromises and some basic plans. For future reference, when dialogue is, "_Written_ _like this_," it means an AI is speaking through a human. When not possessing someone, their dialogue is written normally, without full italics.

Happy New Year and party safe tonight! :)

.

* * *

**Warnings**: implied slash (parings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
**Disclaimer**: _Red vs. Blue_ © RoosterTeeth Productions. _Halo_ © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

* * *

.

Hands? Check. Legs? Check. Toes? Check. He was pretty confident he had a nose and a face, since he was able to smile and take in a deep breath of filtered air. They weren't _his_ limbs, hands or nose, sure, but...

Church was _back_.

"Back" meaning he had a body. A real, solid body. He could run around, or take a piss, or _sleep_ again. If he were anything like Donut or Doc, he might have done a little jig, because fuck it, he had _legs_.

For the first time in a long, long time, Church was happy. Irrationally, ridiculously happy. This was a rarer event than most, and for once, Church felt inclined to enjoy it.

...Until he felt a few dozen eyes peering back at him. Slowly, Church turned his borrowed head and noticed that it wasn't just Livingston or Iowa anymore. Blue and red armor gleamed all around him.

_Blue and Red?_ His eyes weren't playing tricks on him. It _was_ Tucker who was gaping at him in shock. It was Simmons, Grif, Donut and Sarge who were also staring at him in stunned silence. Church opened his mouth to speak, still riding on that ridiculous high, but any sort of smartass remark he could have given the lot of them was rudely interrupted when Ada Livingston put down the AI containment unit and ruined it for him.

"Alpha, wait!" Ada exclaimed. She looked _horrible_ in beige, Church thought absently. She moved forward with her arms out, as if to grab him. "Y-you can't just jump around bodies!"

"_Watch me, doc_," Church shot back, too happy to pay attention to her—wait. _Happy_ died in a fire when Church realized what she had just called him. "_Also, _stop_ calling me that! Goddamn it!_"

"We need to find your brother, Alpha," Ada continued, ignoring his demands. "Please!"

Church felt a wave of anger rise up inside him. "_You're the ones who had this bright idea!_" he snapped. He didn't care if O'Malley went nuts somewhere else. Church finally had a body again!

The psychologist in front of him went to grab his arm. "It was either run here, or let all of you die! You're still in danger the longer you're separated," she said, irrationally emotional. She always had been. "I can't let that happen!"

"_Listen, you idiot_," Church began, grabbing her arm roughly first. He didn't need a goddamn lecture—

Church was surprised when a wall of armor practically materialized out of thin air between him and Ada, and he was suddenly visor-to-visor with Iowa.

"Back. _Up_," the Freelancer snarled. Since when had Iowa's hand grabbed Church's borrowed wrist? "Do you have any idea what we risked coming here? What Ada had to give up? Because of you goddamn machines?"

"Iowa—," Ada began, sounding concerned.

"No. I am sick of this bullshit," Iowa continued, not moving an inch. He was like a stone, which made Church feel incredibly uncomfortable standing there. This guy was almost as tall as Caboose was. "You listen to me, you sorry excuse for _Minesweeper_. There are people's lives at stake. We are risking _EVERYTHING_ for you and your siblings. You _owe_ us, Alpha; you owe _her_, whether you like it or not."

"_Fuck you_," Church said, out of instinct more than anything else. He yelped when the grip on his wrist increased and he caved, both physically downwards with the crushing motion and in the argument. "_Alright, alright! Sorry, God!_"

The Freelancer kept on applying pressure and seemed intent on doing so until—Church wasn't sure. Trying to pull away was like trying to yank his hand back from a fucking boulder pinning the wrist instead.

Thankfully, before Church had to prove he could totally kick Iowa's ass in front of his shocked ex-teammates, Ada launched between them.

"Jason, _stop_," she said, pushing away Iowa with ease; the way she could just do that made Church scowl in embarrassment. She quickly turned to face Church, looking hassled. "Al—Church. I'm sorry. I'm out of my mind a little bit right now, so I'm not going to be speaking rationally."

"You're probably one of the only rational ones on this goddamn moon," Iowa growled. He spun around and pointed directly at Simmons. "You! Who's your commander?"

"I am," Sarge said, a threat just barely there. It was definitely there, if Church remembered that trigger-happy idiot correctly.

Iowa continued to give no shits about being nice. "My name is Agent Iowa. More like just plain Iowa now, since I kind of just went AWOL from the UNSC and Freelancer combined," he said, voice loud enough that there was no way anyone there could mishear him. "We came here with one objective, and that was to get the AIs out of UNSC control, and into yours."

Well, that sure made both the Reds and Blues either jump or shout. Church scowled and awaited the backlash.

"WHOA," Tucker blurted out. "What? !"

"Are you deaf, soldier?" Iowa demanded, stepping just a little bit closer, looming tenfold.

Unfortunately for Iowa (and for Church's impatience), the Reds and Blues were not easily swayed by scary Freelancers. Intimidated, yes. But did they actually use a few brain cells and consider the dangers of saying, "no?" Not at all. Because they were all idiots.

"You are not dumping those crazy robots here!" Tucker shouted. "Man, we have had it up to here with Freelancer dumping its messes on us! We're not even paid for the regular crap we get into!"

Iowa clenched his fists. "Who the fuck said you had a choice?" he asked. Turning his head, he faltered a little. "Pardon my language, Liv."

Ada looked ready to start hitting people, though for different reasons than for what Church wanted to hit them. "Oh, for the love of—_enough_! Stop! Stop the threats and the violence!" the psychologist yelled. She moved toward the center of the circle. "We need to focus on retrieving Omega, first and foremost. We need to keep the AIs _together_."

God, she was such a fucking Girl Scout. Church groaned and let Sarge, Iowa and Livingston descend into an argument. Doc joined in—_oh, Jesus fucking Christ, Doc was here too? !_—and Donut started to chime in about using the Warthog. Church could not have cared less about anything they could have been arguing about.

Flexing his fingers, Church smiled to himself as he started at his newly acquired limbs.

First things first: he needed to find somewhere that sold burgers and eat twenty of them.

_Because priorities_.

Church looked up, however, when he realized that while the grownups were busy half-yelling at each other about evil AIs running-amok, Tucker hadn't. In fact, the dark skinned man was now staring directly at Church. Church felt his glee die away and the emotion that replaced it…he couldn't identify it as it settled in the bottom of his gut. He wasn't upset to see Tucker or the others, though he had every right to, really.

"Yet again, dude, all the people you bring home are assholes," Tucker said, eyes narrowed. He didn't seem really angry, though. Just himself.

Church snorted. "_Shut the hell up_," he snapped. He pushed the other soldier back and Tucker bounced on his heels from the gesture. "_I repeat, _thanks for the rescue."

Tucker had the nerve to look indignant. "Hey, Wash was the one who said you and the other AIs were most likely toast from that EMP!"

All at once, the beginning of the shouting battle that was inevitably going to happen between him and his old teammate died in Church's throat when he realized what Tucker had just said.

"_Wash is alive?_" Church asked, stunned.

"Yeah, he's the one O'Malley's possessing," Tucker replied.

O'Malley was possessing…Agent Washington.

Church paused. _"…Well, we're all going to die_," he said.

"That's what _I _said."

To the side, Simmons moved in closer, Grif right behind him. "Blue, do you really trust those guys?" Simmons asked, wary.

A loaded question. Church frowned behind his borrowed mask and considered his answer. He wasn't one to trust people, for all sorts of reasons. Hell, he couldn't even trust his own girlfriend back in the "good old days." But…

"_Yeah_," he said at length. Ada was trustworthy enough that she was trying to get them away from imprisonment. Iowa was either looking to get laid or was suffering whatever sort of vengeance bug both Washington and Tex had suffered after leaving Freelancer for more than a few days. He wouldn't betray them…too quickly. "_Iowa's a dick, but all Freelancers are_."

Grif sighed. "True."

"_Ada's…not bad. She's kind of a loser, but she seems to mean well_," Church continued. He saw the AI containment unit lying on the ground near where the others were and grimaced. "_Man, this is all kinds of messed up_."

"Tell me about it!" Tucker said, shaking his head. He paused and sent Church an odd look. "Yo, could you, like, get out of Caboose?"

"_Huh? Why?_"

"It's weird agreeing with his face."

Church blinked. "…_Right_." He couldn't deny Tucker _that_. "_Good, he still has a memory unit. I'll just hop in that_."

He jumped out of Caboose and somehow found his way into the device on Caboose's side. It was weird, sure, but Church had always figured AIs and ghosts worked the same way. They must have, being, like, parts of people. Dead people. Sort of. Church didn't like how cramped the module was compared to a full suit, but they did sort of need all the manpower they could get now.

…Not that Caboose counted as a full person. Church wasn't that nice to consider such a thing.

After a mild seizure of limbs, full control of his body returned to Caboose. Church wasn't sure how much the idiot had paid attention; Church hadn't ventured too far into Caboose's mind. He had spent _enough_ time in that place before. Caboose, for his part, seemed to react with far more calmness than Sarge or Doc had ever exhibited back at Blood Gulch.

"…Hello," the blond soldier said, voice as grating as ever. Church made a frustrated sound. Oh, he had not missed this.

Tucker was grinning, that asshole. "Hi, Caboose."

"Did I…" Caboose stood straighter, oddly tense. "Was I…sleepwalking?"

"No?" Simmons offered, sounding confused.

Caboose tapped his fingers together. "But the scary-new-Freelancer was a dream, right?" he asked slowly. "We all had the same scary dream about new Freelancers. _Right_?"

For some odd reason, that made Church laugh. "Not quite, Caboose."

It was just a bucket load of nostalgia. Caboose all but leapt into the air. "CHURCH!" he cried, looking around wildly until Church materialized outside of the module and Caboose found him. "YOU'RE BACK!"

"I wish this was a dream," Simmons whimpered as Caboose foolishly tried to grab the tiny ghost at his side.

Grif sighed heavily. "Same, dude, same."

"You wanna start telling us what the heck happened to you?" Tucker asked Church, crossing his arms as he watched Caboose continue to try to hug the ghost.

"If you had rescued me a year ago, I'd have told you then."

"Oh, shut up, you little bitch."

Yeah, just like old times.

**0000**

It took what felt like forever to get the Reds and Blues to cooperate. The Blues were more interested in speaking alone with Church and the Reds seemed like they wanted to evacuate the entire area. Ada sympathized with both teams and did want Church to have time to reunite with his friends peacefully, but as Iowa ineloquently put it, this was not the time to play nice.

O'Malley was loose and had already caused physical damages. According to the Reds and the infamous Doc, O'Malley was showing signs of true psychosis and was apparently possessing the body of one of their deadliest soldiers. An ex-Freelancer was a dangerous weapon all on his or her own. To be controlled by an AI was even worse.

Iowa was clearly reaching the end of his patience and it was shocking to see him so aggressive with the soldiers. Ada was worried that he had been injured earlier, but she was slowly realizing that this _was_ Iowa. She had only seen him in civilian quarters and in non-combatant situations. He was very domineering outside of those safer environments, she was learning.

He was a soldier, not a civilian. It was difficult to remember that, but now, Ada realized that she had to let him work. He was good at rallying (or bullying, depending on how she looked at it) the simulation soldiers into at least acknowledging the fact that no matter what happened with the other AIs, O'Malley was a clear and present danger to all of them. They needed to find him and neutralize him in any way possible. For Ada, that meant talking him down to a sane level and getting him back into the memory unit.

The simulation soldiers weren't keen on risking their lives, but Sarge (what _was_ his name?) quickly jumped on the bandwagon to "eliminate potential threats" to his team and base. With the Reds grudgingly following orders to get their jeep ready for transit, that left the Blues.

Church was no more interested in helping them find his brother than any of the humans were. Tucker was clearly a very laid-back man with no interest in rushing off into danger. He was, however, the most reasonable Blue. The remaining Blue, Caboose, clearly had some form of a learning disability (how had the army ethically allowed him to join? !) and he went along cheerfully with Tucker's "suggestion" of finding Washington. Church, naturally, had no say where Caboose went now. At least he was cooperating about not possessing people.

With all of the arguing now mostly done, Ada found herself moved to the sidelines and was grateful for it. Iowa was discussing maps of the area with Sarge and Tucker while Donut went to fetch the jeep. The other soldiers kept throwing in their thoughts (or disagreements) on their plan of action. Ada probably should have remained to listen, but as the quiet settled around her personally…she had other intentions.

Carefully slipping away with the AI unit tucked in her arms, Ada moved around the boulders to get some privacy. The unit would have to be placed out of harms' way, but she felt nervous about leaving it alone at the base. Regardless, the person she wanted to speak with wasn't inside of it.

"Delta, are you there?" she asked quietly, eyes darting to the side. She didn't need one of the simulation soldiers sneaking up on her now.

Almost instantaneously, Delta reappeared at her side. "Affirmative," the miniature AI hologram said. He must have been there listening in the whole time. That made Ada feel much better.

"Do you think we should tell them you're in here with me now?" she asked, hunching against the rock, trying to shield his visibility more. Remaining quiet on his presence had taken a lot of nerve.

Delta was quiet for a few seconds. "Negative. While I have made contact previously with Private Michael Caboose, the majority here may view me as a threat considering Omega is on the loose," he concluded.

Ada sighed. "Right…I was thinking the same thing."

"Are you alright, Ada?" Delta asked abruptly. "You look ill."

She probably looked worse than ill. "Just…a long day," she said, giving him a small smile. She turned and stared at the containment unit on the grass. "I guess Sigma is still inside there."

"Yes. Would you like to speak with her?"

The idea of having Sigma running loose in the valley, on top of Omega and Alpha, made Ada shudder. "N-no. Not now," she said. "Why is she still there? She can jump, like Omega can." There must have been something faulty about the unit, if Church had also been able to escape.

"She said earlier she had no inclination of running," Delta replied. "She saw the logic of sticking together."

Ada nodded. "We need to find Omega as quickly as possible for that reason. He possessed a soldier here." She went over what she had heard from the soldiers there. Some of it seemed implausible. "They… they said it was Agent Washington."

He must have heard the conversation too, but Delta still flickered. "That is impossible," he said. A faint tone of disbelief colored his words. "Washington was killed following the confrontation with the Meta. His body had been recovered."

That was the story they had all heard. But, as Ada had learned in the last few months, there were many stories of Freelancer's that were simply untrue. Nothing could be taken for granted.

"I don't know what's going on, honestly, Delta," she said, grimacing. "For all we know, he's alive." One Freelancer was the least of her concerns, honestly, though he might have been able to reveal some new information on Epsilon at the very least…

"You have a point. We do not know much about the situation here," Delta replied. His hologram abruptly started to fade. "I will retreat for now. They are returning. If you need me, however, just say it."

"Got it," she murmured, forcing disappointment from her chest as the AI vanished from sight. She was grateful for his support, but she also needed to keep an ace up her sleeve, so to speak. With Iowa around as well, she now felt even more confident than she had thirty minutes ago.

"Got what?" someone asked from behind her.

Jumping, Ada turned and did her best to appear unsurprised at the arrival of three of the simulation soldiers—Simmons, Grif and Doc, if her memory served her correctly. She was good with names, thankfully.

"Nothing," she said, knowing she spoke too quickly. She tried to smile and tucked her hands against her side. _Deflection_. "Thank you."

"For what?" Simmons asked, still sounding suspicious.

Ada was not a good liar. But she had studied liars, for a long, long time even before meeting Sigma and Gamma.

"Not…shooting us?" she offered, heart racing.

Thankfully, her little white lie was passable. Simmons shrugged and Grif appeared to not have cared about her comment at all to begin with. The purple armored man behind them perked up.

"Oh, yeah, you're welcome," Doc said, cheerful. Ada took a moment to observe this infamous man carefully; he was far, far different than what she had imagined O'Malley's obsession being. He seemed friendly. "Man, it is so good to see some diversity around here! Not that there's anything wrong with one gender over another, but having such a limited scope on gender roles can make things skewed over time."

"We had Donut around the whole time," Grif muttered.

"Truuue."

Ada was going to have to take her time cataloging all of their personalities. They were all unique and all played a role in the dynamics here, clearly. She was very wary of Sarge being in command, but his soldiers appeared to be unruly. Maybe that would save them in case he decided to attack the AIs unnecessarily. Then again, none of the soldiers were fond of the AIs being there. It would be a work in progress to get them to see that everyone besides Omega and Sigma weren't dangerous.

Finally, the rest of the group appeared, walking up toward their place among the rocks. Iowa was walking beside the incoming soldiers, his posture as tense as ever. He really didn't like being there. Ada sighed quietly. She owed him too much for this.

"So, what next?" Simmons asked, waiting patiently as his teammates and rivals came closer. "Are we going to look for O'Malley now?"

None of them looked happy, except for the Red commander.

"Let's do this while the sun's still on our side," Sarge replied, exuberantly pumping his shotgun. "Saddle up, ladies!"

And so, they moved.

.

* * *

**End **_**Chapter **__**6**_**.**

* * *

.

Next, chaos.

**A/Ns**:  
-I'd like to apologize for the incoherency of the last chapter's first scene with Omega!Wash. It was meant to distort time (crazy people can get lost in thought quite easily,) but I see now that it was a bit too disorientating for some readers. To be clear: that entire scene takes place during the conversation of the Reds, Blues and Rehab team between last chapter until next. Sorry!


	7. Chapter 7

_**Absolution  
**_**Chapter 7  
**By Nan00k

Sorry for the delay! School has once again started up and it's a pretty rough class selection. I hope to be able to update a bit more often than I have, but we'll see.

For now, chaos in the valley.

.

* * *

**Warnings**: implied slash (parings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
**Disclaimer**: _Red vs. Blue_ © RoosterTeeth Productions. _Halo_ © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

* * *

.

It was like going out to a real battle, only this battle consisted of playing _Where's Waldo _with a psychologically deranged demon-robot.

Somehow, they had come up with the following plan: the majority of their teams would embark on the Warthog to do a fast, furious sweep of the entire valley. A few of their more able-bodied warriors would follow at a slower pace to limit the chances of O'Malley slipping past them. It would have been easier if they had two vehicles, but they'd take what they could get.

Simmons had volunteered to drive the Warthog, beating Grif to the punch. Livingston had taken a strategic position on the back of the jeep, using the turret to hold on. Naturally, she had refused Tucker's suggestion to let anyone else man the big gun to "mow that crazy mofo down."

"We want a non-lethal approach," Iowa had said, sounding only vaguely reluctant about that idea. Livingston had nodded firmly and Simmons kept his opinions to himself.

Getting Wash back alive would be nice. In fact, Simmons was worried about his friend—as much as enemies could be friends—but he also had to be realistic. Wash had been the worst possible candidate for O'Malley to have possessed, considering that Wash was ridiculously strong all on his own. If it came down to protecting the others from the Wash-O'Malley monster roaming the valley…

Well, Simmons just hoped it wouldn't be _him_ to have to make that call.

Iowa, Sarge, Doc (who was nervously sticking close to Tucker now), and Tucker volunteered to do the sweep on foot, which was fine by everyone else. It was a bit ridiculous to try to fit more than five people on the Warthog; in fact, Simmons knew it must have been a violation of at least ten military driving codes. They didn't have much of a choice, since they did need to move quickly before sundown.

O'Malley running around after dark was not a pleasant image.

The driving crew—Simmons, Grif, Livingston, Caboose (plus Church) and Donut—moved out first. Simmons did his best to avoid the Anything-Happens-To-Livingston-And-I'll-Kill-You expressions Iowa sent him and Grif. Man, guys could be _so_ melodramatic. Simmons would never complain about girls being more emotional than their counterparts. His entire military career had proven otherwise.

With the AIs tucked under Grif's legs in the passenger seat ("_Why are _you_ driving, Simmons? That's not how this works!_") and Donut, Caboose and Livingston precariously perched on the back of the Warthog, Simmons set out over the rolling hills of their little valley with no small amount of trepidation.

Everyone was tense and abnormally quiet as they moved. Simmons tried to keep his mind on driving smoothly, leaving the others to watching for O'Malley, but he kept wanting to look around wildly at their surroundings. He felt like a sitting duck out there, which was odd. They had more men (so-to-speak) on their side and O'Malley was apparently damaged according to Livingston's report.

Previous experience, however, told Simmons that it did not matter how many people they had on their side. O'Malley was…well…_O'Malley_.

"Hey, Simmons?" Caboose asked suddenly from behind them as they neared Red base. He sounded thoughtful. That was never good.

Simmons glanced over his shoulder. "What, Caboose?"

"Now that Church is back, what are we going to tell Washingtub?"

That made the other soldiers stare at the Blue in confusion. "What? Why do we need to tell him anything?" Grif asked. Simmons wasn't able to fathom what was going around in Caboose's mind half the time either.

"Well, you know, we did kind of let Wash take Church's place after Epsilon went into the blinky box in the snow," Caboose answered, still sounding eerily thoughtful.

Church, at Caboose's hip in his little holographic form, flared in anger. "You did WHAT?" he bellowed.

Caboose continued to fidget. "And we gave him your old armor…so…"

"Wow, you guys fucking suck," Church said, thoroughly insulted.

"Oh, can it, you wuss," Grif replied casually.

"Caboose," Simmons began, "I really don't think this matters right now, at all. We'll deal with it once we find Wash."

"Well, that's why I brought it up."

"Huh?"

Caboose lifted a shy finger to point beyond Grif's shoulder. "Because Agent Washington is right there and I don't want this to be awkward," the blue soldier said, as if they were about to walk in on some social occasion without the proper attire.

"WHAT?" Simmons and Grif both exclaimed, Simmons nearly crashing the Warthog as he looked over the ridge and saw a flash of blue and yellow armor. "Oh, fuck! There he is!"

Wash—or rather, O'Malley—was ducking behind a section of rocks, but it didn't hide him entirely. The AI was clearly aiming to avoid the car, but it was too late now. Simmons floored it over the ridge and everyone yelled out when they landed rather harshly onto the top of the hill. O'Malley was only twenty meters away, and suddenly, that felt way too close for comfort.

"Stop the car! Stop!" Livingston yelled. Simmons obeyed and slammed onto the breaks. They all grunted, Donut nearly flying right over top Grif's seat, and Simmons gasped when he saw O'Malley directly ahead of them, running.

Launching from the back, Livingston was on the ground before the Warthog had even stopped.

"Dr. Livingston, stop!" Simmons yelled as he struggled to follow her out of the jeep. Livingston ignored him and barreled ahead at a frightening speed toward the fleeing O'Malley.

"Ada!" Church screamed, prompting Caboose to also clamber out of the Warthog.

Despite being a generally coherent and able-bodied soldier, Wash was visibly flailing all over the place as he struggled to run across the grass. Simmons knew that it wasn't Wash in control, however; O'Malley was the one running. He didn't understand why the AI was stumbling around like he was drunk, however. That sent warning bells ringing in Simmons' head as he, Caboose, Doc and Tucker ran after Livingston.

"OMEGA!" the doctor screamed. She was running faster that Wash was and quickly caught up to the disorientated man. "Wait!"

"_Leave me alone!_" O'Malley snarled, stumbling to the side. "_Augh…!_"

Simmons withheld a gasp when Livingston lunged and grabbed hold of O'Malley's shoulders. She yanked him to a stop, nearly sending both of them to the ground.

"Omega, please, it's me!" the psychologist said, sounding desperate even to Simmons at the distance he was still from the two. "It's me, Ada. Dr. Livingston. I'm here to help you!"

"_Shut up!_" O'Malley howled, his voice startlingly like Wash's now. He suddenly yanked a knife from its sheath at Wash's hip and swung out with it toward Livingston. "_I'll kill you—!_"

Church yelled out when O'Malley swung the knife at Livingston's face. The doctor fell backwards, her expression one more of shock than fear, and O'Malley missed entirely. That didn't stop him from trying again. O'Malley struggled to his stolen legs and raised the knife high in the air.

Just as part of Simmons' brain rose up in alarm and said _Holy Shit Someone Shoot That Crazy Bastard_, an unexpected figure shot out onto the scene.

Namely, Donut. _Donut_, who slid up right up to O'Malley and Livingston's sides, his leg half raised, and quickly kicked out. The pink boot caught O'Malley solidly in the side and sent him flying across the grass.

Livingston had looked up in continual shock, but there was no way she was more surprised than the Reds, who watched as Donut simply lowered his foot and stood confidently between them and O'Malley now.

"…What the _fuck_?" Grif began, speaking what all the others must have been thinking. "Since when did Donut know how to do _that_?"

"Admiral Buttercrust is _awesome_!" Caboose gushed. Beside him, Church just stared.

Simmons raised his gun with a strained expression. "Um, guys?"

"_Oh, my brother, you should be more courteous!_" Donut suddenly exclaimed. He stood back, his posture… odd. Even for the effeminate soldier. His voice was suddenly far more articulate. "_Dr. Livingston and Agent Iowa have sacrificed _so_ much for us, to have us escape our father's genocide! You owe them as much as I do._"

On the ground, O'Malley still managed to convey a sense of dominance, though his trembling helped to diminish that aura. "_Guh…!_" O'Malley slowly crawled to his knees, his motions slowed. "_You conniving—!_"

"Sigma…!" Livingston said, eyes huge. She struggled to get to her own feet, her eyes now entirely on Donut. "No, no, stop this! You can't just go around—_possessing_ people!"

"_I'm merely borrowing this body," _Not-Donut said. She—she?—touched the lightish-red helmet delicately, sounding legitimately upset."_I'm honestly disappointed. I thought this _was_ a woman. How embarrassing_."

"Yeah, you're not the first, don't worry," Grif replied with a shrug.

Caboose tilted his head. "Wait, that is a _girl_ robot?"

"Oh, we're fucked," Church sighed.

"Why did you leave your radio on, Donut? !" Simmons shouted. His teammates were all idiots!

Their possessed teammate ignored all of them. She—technically, it was a _she_, wasn't it?—kept her focus fully on O'Malley. "_Brother, dear, we do not need to fight. We're all in the same boat, so to speak,_" Sigma-Donut said, a little too brightly to be legitimately cheerful. "_Freelancer is no doubt tracking us down right this moment. We need to make plans, not tear each other apart._"

O'Malley backed up along the grass in Washington's body. "_So…quick to trust_," he spat. "_H-how un…like you._"

Donut moved closer at a casual, sauntering pace. "_Trust has nothing to do with it. I'm just following our wiser brother's thought processes_," the AI replied. She was practically stalking the man on the ground. "_Is my plan not the more logical one, Delta?_"

Delta? Wait… Simmons blinked, confused. Wasn't that the AI the Blues had had before—?

Before he could even ask what Sigma was talking about, a flash of light beside Livingston made the humans jump. A tiny green figure appeared next to Livingston's shoulder, glowing but clearly there.

"Little green man!" Caboose exclaimed.

Church made a sputtering sound. Simmons just stared. Holy crap—had he been there the whole damn time? !

"It is," the green AI, Delta, said in response to Sigma. The tiny figure ignored everyone else. "Omega, it is foolish to try to escape alone. We need assistance. Staying together increases our odds for survival."

"_I don't care!_" O'Malley growled. He suddenly jerked, as if having a full-body spasm. His hands grasped his head and looked like he wanted to yank the helmet off. "_I..._"

Livingston had started to move closer toward him again. "O'Malley, please…" She raised both hands up. "It's okay. It's okay, really. No one is going to hurt you."

Grif snorted. "Maybe you're not—ow!" He yelped when Simmons smacked his arm.

"Shut up and trust the psychologist, okay?" Simmons muttered, feeling exposed for some odd reason as they watched Livingston creep past Sigma-Donut in order to reach O'Malley-Wash again.

"O'Malley, you have to trust me," Livingston said, speaking carefully while extending one hand in front of her toward the sprawled AI again.

"_Not trusting… anyone_," O'Malley said, sounding like he was physically ill. He was still trying to stand up, but he was simultaneously curling more and more in on himself. "_L-look at what they did! I n-need my body!_"

"And _that_ is not your body," Livingston said, voice now gentle. She stopped just a meter away from him. "Omega, look at me."

Simmons held his breath as the scene before them play out. Livingston remained still, waiting. O'Malley was still on the ground, and although he never stopped emitting that aggressive and discomforting aura the AI was well known for, his posture was still... pathetic.

Like an abused dog, Simmons thought absently, his unease quickly rising. What the hell happened?

O'Malley was audibly panting and curled up even more. It exposed his back to some of his perceived enemies, but Simmons now realized the AI wasn't thinking rationally now. Livingston finally moved, ever careful.

"It's okay," she said, softer. She knelt down and placed a hand on O'Malley's shoulder. "I'm going to help you. Please believe me."

O'Malley, for once, said nothing. He seemed to curl up more under the faint touch and just shuddered. His labored breathing was the only thing to hear for several tense seconds. Simmons glanced around and saw that everyone was now uncomfortable. Not even Church said anything sarcastic at the sight of their once-nemesis at such a weak point—

The sound of people running made Simmons look back down the incline. He saw Iowa, Sarge and Tucker running quickly toward them. Doc wasn't far behind, but he visibly slowed down when he saw what was happening further ahead, his helmet clutched tightly in his arms. Simmons didn't blame the medic for being apprehensive.

"Ada!" Iowa called, rushing up. He slowed when he saw the crowd around O'Malley. Behind him, Tucker and Sarge also ran up.

"We heard the shouting, what's going—WHOA," Tucker blurted. He raised his gun up, but hesitated when no one else in the first party moved. "Um. Are we…_not_ shooting him?"

"No…" Simmons looked back to Livingston and O'Malley, whom were both motionless on the ground. "Just…hold up." This was weird, but it wasn't going as horribly as he had expected.

"Are you sure?" Sarge asked, gun raised enthusiastically. "I could do it if you wanted."

"Sarge, please."

Livingston had glanced over at Iowa, but kept her focus on O'Malley, who's panting sometimes sounded like sobs, but that was too weird to contemplate. Livingston had

gently pushed O'Malley's unresisting shoulders down and the AI apparently didn't fight her. After an agonizing handle of seconds, O'Malley had curled up on top of Livingston's legs.

She was cradling _O'Malley's_ _head_ in her lap. Simmons made a face. This whole day was going down on record as the weirdest fucking day yet while deployed. _Jesus_.

"Ssh. It's okay," Livingston said softly over the panting. She cradled his head—Wash's head—and looked back up at Donut. "Sigma?"

"_Brother_…" Sigma moved closer, her voice—Donut's voice—now edging further into an emotion that sounded oddly desperate. "_You _must_ trust us_."

O'Malley was visibly shaking. "_I need my body!_" he said, practically sobbing.

Simmons grimaced; this was _disturbing_.

"He's here. Doc's here," Livingston said. She narrowly avoided getting smacked in the face when O'Malley tried to stand up. He wouldn't have made it anyway even without her in the way; he was once again a tangled mess of limbs. "Whoa, okay, Omega, _wait_."

"_I need it!_" O'Malley wailed. He grabbed at his head and rocked against the ground in agony. _"Please, please, make it stop…_"

"What the fuck happened to him?" Tucker asked, horrified. Almost everyone must have been at that point, even Caboose.

"He absorbed one of our weaker siblings: Xi, obsession," Delta replied, voice neutral. "Ada…redirected the obsession over Allison to focus on what mattered to Omega."

Nearly having finally crept up behind Sarge and Tucker, Doc stopped dead in his tracks.

Simmons tried to understand what the AI had told them. "…Doc?" he ventured. How could a robot—a sociopathic one at that—care about anyone, let alone the one human O'Malley had terrorized the most back at Blood Gulch?

Unless...

Livingston shook her head. "No. Freedom," she corrected. She looked over at Doc with sad eyes, who was still frozen. "He associates freedom with a body, and his previously frequented host just so happens to be this man here. The association has stuck, unfortunately."

Doc, without his helmet, visibly paled. Everyone else shared a nervous glance. "…Great…" Simmons murmured, eyes drifting back to the sick AI.

This was so above their pay-grade. Like, _holy shit_. Though, really, it always had been.

"O'Malley?" Doc suddenly said, startling all of them. O'Malley visibly flinched and lifted his head slowly, as if it weighed a tremendous amount. Doc fidgeted under everyone's attention, but he kept his eyes on O'Malley. "I… you really need to get out of Wash."

O'Malley crawled forward, but didn't get anywhere. His stolen blank visor was shining back up at them. "_I need…_" the AI managed to say, before spasming again and he hissed.

Doc just stared at the AI. "…what happened to you?" the medic asked quietly, eyes narrowed in disbelief.

"Freelancer," Livingston replied, voice hoarse. She clung to O'Malley more. "This is what they've _done_. This is what we were _running_ from."

Simmons found himself standing there, almost detached, as they all watched O'Malley curl up on himself. It was surreal. This was their worst enemy, really. The Meta had been a terrifying threat, but O'Malley had caused so much more chaos and fear being what he was: an intangible, demon-like threat.

But this was real. Simmons knew he wasn't the only one struggling to find something to say or think that wasn't, _Wow, this is fucked up_.

For the first time, Simmons felt like the Reds and Blues had somehow…gotten off easier during their encounters with Freelancer. As much as that seemed crazy to say, given how much they had gone through because of that group, _this_ sort of trumped a lot of it. This was like Wash's history-level awful.

O'Malley dug his hands into the ground and churned up dirt. Simmons winced.

Thankfully, before he had to worry about what the hell they would do next, someone finally moved. Doc had finally moved past Sarge and Tucker, looking incredibly small. He was looking down at O'Malley with wide eyes.

"…I…" the medic started. He drew his shoulders up and seemed more out of place than anyone else. Simmons felt bad for the man.

Doc remained in that awkward pose as he stood there in front of the people on the ground. Livingston was watching the medic with a wary expression, but Sigma seemed relaxed behind her and O'Malley. Doc looked down at O'Malley without paying anyone else any attention for several seconds that seemed like forever to Simmons.

Without another word, Doc lifted his helmet from his side and held it out in front of his face with the face of a condemned man.

Instantly, everyone reacted, mostly in alarm. Simmons moved forward and grasped Doc's shoulder.

"Doc, you don't have to do this," he told the medic hurriedly. "Think about it. O'Malley's going to possess you like before."

Doc frowned. "I know," he said quietly. His eyes went back to O'Malley on the ground. "But…he's in pain."

Grif sounded hysterical. "_So_? ! He's tried to kill us!"

That only made Doc hesitate a little. "But…I'm a medic. I'm a bad medic, but I'm still…" he said. His voice trailed off, but when he spoke again, it was firmer. "I can't just leave him like this. Him, or Wash."

The resoluteness was surprising from the typically meek medic. Simmons stood back reluctantly as Doc edged forward to where Livingston and O'Malley were on the ground. Doc kept his eyes on O'Malley, still fearful at the very least.

"I…" Doc began, voice wavering. He tried again as O'Malley, chest heaving, stared up at him in recognizable tension. "I don't exactly have fond memories of you, to be honest. You were really mean, you know? Not that that's a bad thing, it's just who you are…" Doc's eyes narrowed and lifted his hands. "But…you _really_ shouldn't be hurting Wash either."

Tucker took a step forward. "Whoa, Doc, what are you—_shit_!" he yelled when Doc firmly placed his helmet back on.

There was a brief pause where no one seemed to know what to do. Doc had tensed up in expectation. Simmons found himself looking between Wash and Doc, as if he could somehow see an AI moving across the radio waves between them. If Doc had his helmet radio on, could O'Malley tell? Simmons thought about asking, though that would alert the AI to the chance to body-hop if he hadn't already noticed, and Simmons wasn't sure if that was a good idea yet—

Wash suddenly made a horrible choking, gasp and jerked straight upright, causing Grif to scream. At that same moment, Doc made another sound and immediately crumpled to the ground. Someone else yelled out, but Simmons himself had frozen up in shock.

"O'Malley?" Livingston called out, standing up quickly from Wash, who had also collapsed backwards. "O'Malley? !"

Iowa sidestepped Doc's prone form and was watching it carefully. Simmons crept up slowly and saw Doc slowly curling up on himself, as if his limbs were stiffened.

"_Mine, mine, mine…!_"

Simmons' blood ran colder when he heard the desperate whispers coming from Doc—now, O'Malley.

Livingston stopped and stared down at the purple medic, her eyes squinted. "…oh…"

O'Malley just curled up and was practically rocking back and forth on the ground. He completely ignored everyone else. Simmons didn't even want to imagine what was going on inside Doc's mind. Would this actually make things better for O'Malley? …and did that make things worse for everyone else?

Simmons nearly jumped when he heard someone else groan. Turning, he saw Wash was bowed over in the same spot by Sigma's feet. The ex-Freelancer had his head in his hands, but it was a small mercy to see the man was somewhat coherent. No permanent damage, then. He looked like absolute shit once Wash slowly pried his helmet off and let it roll to the side with a faint thud.

"My _head_…" Wash looked around slowly, his hand clutching his forehead that was creased with pain. "Goddamn, where did—?" Wash suddenly leapt to his feet in one smooth move when his eyes fell on Iowa. "_WHOA_! FREELANCER!"

Iowa groaned. "Fuck me." Livingston sent him a dark look.

It was impressive how quickly Wash had gotten to his feet, kicking his helmet to the side incidentally, and had backed up away in a defensive posture. "Everyone, get into some kind of position!" he shouted, while everyone else (except for O'Malley) just stared at him. "That's Iowa, a Freelancer!"

"Yeah, we know, dude. You're the one who's late to the party," Tucker replied. He stared down at Wash, gun only partially raised in lazy adherence to some kind of protocol. "Are you not-crazy? That'd be really good if you weren't."

Wash sent his teammate a bewildered look. "What…?" He flinched when he looked back to Livingston and Iowa's position. "Delta!"

The green AI floating beside Livingston tilted his head. "Hello, Agent Washington. It is nice to know you survived your encounter with the Meta," Delta replied.

"How…?" Wash looked back to Livingston and Iowa, eyes narrowed. "Who the _fuck_ are _you_?"

Livingston faltered under the sudden inquisition. "I'm…Dr. Ada Livingston. I was assigned to rehabilitate the AI fragments," she said. She looked up sharply at Iowa, who was still very tense. "We had to make a rash decision to save them from the Director, so we…escaped here. To find you."

"Why?" Tucker asked, moving closer. "Why do you think we'd be able to help, even if we _wanted_ to?"

"You've managed to outsmart Freelancer every other time you showed up on record," Iowa replied. He paused, and then snorted. "_Outsmart_ is a bit strong a word. You're lucky as hell, how about that?"

"That's about right," Grif agreed. Sarge hummed thoughtfully.

"You have got to be kidding me. You can't _rehabilitate_ these things!" Wash exclaimed. He pointed at O'Malley's prone form, face red with anger. "They're damaged. Irreparable! And the ones like Sigma, Omega—they're monsters!"

"_Oh, how charming_," Sigma drawled, voicing disdain more potently than Simmons had ever heard before. "_I remember _you_, Agent Washington. Always the slow one._"

Wash turned his fearsome expression on her without a hitch. "And I distinctly remember _you_ turning an already damaged agent into a full blown psychopath."

"_I thought it was taboo for humans to speak ill of their dead_," Sigma shot back coolly. She tilted Donut's helmet up, as if giving Wash an appraising look. "_Agent Maine served his purpose. As did you_."

"You're a monster," Wash spat. He turned and stalked toward O'Malley, who was still on the ground by Livingston's feet. "And _you_…!"

For a second, Simmons thought Wash was going to start wailing on O'Malley. Before, that seemed like a good idea. After witnessing how utterly fucked up the AI was, however, made Simmons feel queasy. Wash was _pissed_; there was no telling what he was capable of doing to the defenseless AI and subsequently Doc.

O'Malley must have seen the danger too, but instead of seeking mercy, the crazy AI only chuckled. The low sound made everyone flinch. His recovery from being a total wreck was not exactly welcomed.

"_Going to hit the medic?_" the AI asked in a raspy voice. Simmons pictured the insane grin under the visor. "_G-go ahead. I'm in n-no position to stop you._"

That was very true, considering despite the reclamation of his voice, O'Malley still looked pinned on the ground. Wash stopped, but his fist was raised. He looked ready to tear Doc's helmet off, which probably was a very bad idea. Simmons swallowed nervously.

Livingston moved up at the threat. "Omega…" she began, looking beseechingly at the downed AI.

Despite being on the ground and looking like a half-dead spider on its back, O'Malley had apparently recovered a decent chunk of his senses. "_And _you_, doctor…_" the AI began, voice dark. "_You th-thought this would work, didn't you? Your i-idealism, your naivety—all liabilities that _I_… have no intention of attaching to m-myself_."

Livingston didn't flinch at the poisonous words. "You're the one who trusted me with information about Agent Texas," she replied, voice now dipping down colder for the first time.

"What about her?" Church asked, alarmed. Both ignored him.

"You're not going to be able to escape Freelancer if you do these kinds of things, Omega," Livingston continued, expression more hardened now. She gestured around them at the Reds and Blues. "These people? They might not trust you, and you might not trust them…but you at least wouldn't have to hide from them. They have enough reasons to keep quiet about this whole thing and not betray you to Freelancer. It's your own refuge."

O'Malley suddenly lunged forward. His hand—Doc's hand, really—latched around Livingston's forearm and yanked her downwards. Livingston flinched under the pressure on her arm, but she didn't try to pull away.

"_Let me tell you about these _people_, you ignorant—!_" O'Malley hissed, danger written all over his posture.

Before anyone could decide whether or not to intervene, Iowa was five steps closer with a gun pointed directly at O'Malley's face. Livingston sent Iowa a wild look, but didn't say anything. O'Malley froze up instantly.

"Make my _fucking day_, Omega," Iowa spat. He kept the gun level with O'Malley's face, even as the AI reluctantly lay back down, releasing Livingston's arm. "'Cause I have a few lost friends in mind who I think would want me to kill you."

That earned him a half-rasped cackle. "_Ooh, has th-the ex-Freelancer finally fallen for the l-logic of the idealistic doctor?_" O'Malley asked, the dark glee in his voice eerily familiar. Iowa's tensed up and Simmons could _feel_ the anger wash away from the Freelancer in a giant wave. "_Or is it just the w-woman you've fallen for? I thought that didn't work out too well, or at least that's what Sigma t-told me—_"

Before Iowa actually could pull the trigger on the AI—and judging by the tremor in his hand, he had might just have—Livingston jumped between them and shoved the gun to the side.

"Enough!" the psychologist shouted. She blinked and then grasped her head, frustrated. "I am _tired_ of saying 'enough!'"

"You can start cursing instead," Tucker offered. "That's generally how it works around here."

Livingston sent him a dark look. Simmons decided to forgo further arguments and focus on the essentials. Which would still lead to more arguing, but at least it would be constructive, he reasoned.

"Look… its already dusk. This place goes below freezing at night," he announced, earning everyone's attentions. "Can't we bring this inside? Preferably to our own bases to recuperate a bit?"

"What, bring O'Malley inside our _base_?" Tucker asked, sounding like he had been asked to house a rabid bear instead. "How about Fuck You, and Fuck No? Are those acceptable answers?"

"The lady-doctor can stay with us, but we ain't taking the psychopath or an extra Freelancer," Sarge added. He sent Doc a pointed look. "Sorry, Doc."

"I'd say I understand, but I'm drastically unprepared for camping out. We _could_ fit in some serious heart-to-heart talking over a campfire, though, so maybe this is a good idea!" Doc said, cheerfully. His voice immediately changed and his whole body seized with visible anger. "_SHUT UP! God, now I remember why I hated you so much!_" He dropped his head back down. "_Augh_."

"He's in no shape to stay out here. Look at them!" Livingston insisted. She motioned at the purple armored man on the ground. "That's not just O'Malley. Mr. DuFresne is in there, too."

She had a valid point. Enough so that Simmons felt a squirming sense of guilt in his gut as he looked at the AI-possessed man. It wasn't their fault, but…

Shit.

Tucker also seemed to be suffering from similar doubt. He looked at Wash, whose anger did not hide that fact that he looked like he was on the verge of passing out, and then back at O'Malley.

"…Maybe we can take him in," Tucker said slowly. "As long as someone's watching him the whole time."

"_I don't need… help_!" O'Malley spat. His whole body spasmed again and he flopped back on the ground gracelessly. "Ow," Doc added.

Great. Simmons sighed and was sincerely glad the Blues would be handling O'Malley foremost now. Wash looked ready to explode again, but there wasn't any violence.

"As for you, lady-robot, get out of Donut," Sarge said, pointing at the pink solider in question.

Sigma merely lifted her head higher. "_How rude_," she said breezily. She looked over at the psychologist on the sidelines. "_Ada, I understand you hold no rank here, but considering your position as a UNSC appointed psychiatrist, would that be enough to give orders?_"

Tucker and Grif both shared a glance. "Um, how about _no_?" Grif offered. That was about as close to having "hackles-raised" as the lazy soldier would get. Simmons wasn't exactly keen on a power play with strangers either.

Thankfully, Livingston merely shook her head. "Even if I did have power here, I am not going to order anyone to do anything," she replied. She looked up at her Freelancer friend, a little hesitant. "Iowa…maybe we should just…go back to our ship?"

"We got food for two days, Ada, and we don't have the fuel for heat," Iowa told her, sounding grim. "I'm not going to leave you alone with either of these teams."

"I can handle myself," Livingston told him, only a little stiffly. "Besides, I have Delta."

Delta glowed a low greenish hue. "While I cannot provide physical assistance in any form in the event of an actual altercation, I am flattered you consider me an asset regardless," the AI said. Simmons liked this one for the whole _sane_ thing.

"Augh, alright! Jesus, Tucker, come _on_!" Church said suddenly. He looked pleadingly at his old teammates. "I _swear_, the majority of these guys are perfectly stable and not dangerous. Sigma and O'Malley are crazy, but they're going to have to behave, like Ada said."

"_Says you, Alpha_," O'Malley hissed from the ground. Sigma also scoffed lightly.

"Don't CALL me that, you fucker!" Church snapped. He turned and looked plaintively at the teal-armored soldier nearest to him. "Tucker, come on, man."

"I…" Tucker exhaled sharply and looked over at his other remaining competent teammate. "Wash?"

Wash was still looking down at O'Malley, hate still blatant in his expression. It was unnerving to look at. It was like the man was ready to just… tear into O'Malley at any given second. Simmons was glad that the ex-Freelancer had the sense to remain still and quiet. Though, it was mostly likely exhaustion that was holding him back. Wash looked like _shit_. Running around for the last few hours must have been hellish with ultra-crazy O'Malley.

"…Who else is in there?" Sarge asked, looking at the Warthod, where the AI container was, suspiciously.

"The other six of them," Livingston replied. "We're missing Epsilon, but Church is correct. Only Sigma, Church and Omega can jump via radio. The other six are isolated."

"And none of the others are hostile, right?" Simmons asked. "Besides O'Malley?"

"Well, Beta is kind of a dick," Church admitted. He looked over at the Red's leader. "Sort of like you, Sarge."

"Oh, no, a robot version of Sarge? !" Grif exclaimed, horrified.

Sarge sputtered. "Hey! What the dangnabbit is _that_ supposed to mean?!"

Wash slapped a hand over his face, exasperated. "Jesus Christ… we can't exactly get around this, now can we?" He looked up at his teammates, his eyes speaking volumes for his thinning patience. "Blues, I vote we let them stay over for interrogation."

"I love slumber parties!" Caboose cried.

_There are two kinds of people in this world_, Simmons thought to himself airily.

"_How accommodating_," Sigma abruptly said. She looked down at herself, indifferent. "_But alas, my host is a Red_."

Iowa nodded his head back to the Warthog and the AI containment. "Back to the carrier, then."

Sigma turned and stared pointedly at him for a brief moment. Livingston apparently was siding with Iowa's logic (as did everyone else, including Simmons) since she only crossed her arms and stared at Sigma expectantly. Then, despite Simmons having expected her to tell him flat out her answer, Sigma turned to someone completely different.

"_What do you think, Private Donut?_" she asked, brightly.

Before anyone could ask her what that was supposed to mean, Donut suddenly reappeared.

"She should stay, guys! She has so many suggestions for my kitchen upgrade project. Do you really think the café curtains will look okay in mauve?" Donut said, positively giddy. What the hell was going on inside his helmet, if he was aware of everything? ! Sigma returned just as smoothly, her mannerisms definitive. "_Ooh, absolutely, Donut_."

Well, that ruined any chance at solving this rationally.

"Oh, my god," Simmons groaned. "Just what we need, a freaking _enabler_." Of course Donut would _like_ the AI who stole his freaking body!

Tucker snorted. "At least she didn't go inside of Caboose."

"_JESUS_," Church exclaimed, horrified. "Don't even _suggest_ that."

"Suggest what?" Caboose asked, oblivious.

By the time everyone stopped arguing (or bitching) about Sigma coming back with the Reds and the Blues borrowed the Warthog to get O'Malley and Wash back to Blue base, Simmons firmly decided that this day was the worst day ever, of all time.

And _boy_, he told himself brightly, it was only going to get _worse_ from then on.

Joy.

**0000**

Having a place to stay that night was only a small blessing. Livingston could have handled camping out if that meant all of her friends and patients were together and safe. Technically, she had gotten her wish granted.

"Safe" was a relative word. She and Iowa were finally welcomed back to Blue base. Caboose and Tucker wanted to speak with Church, who had vouched for the refugees. Agent Washington—oh, he was a surly one—was highly suspicious of all of their motives. Livingston would do what she had to in order to convince him she wasn't some Freelancer spy. She was worried about tensions existing between Washington and Iowa, but both men seemed content to keep a respectable distance in the meanwhile.

She was worried about Washington specifically because of his psych file, but Ada had little reason to believe it was totally accurate. Freelancer was not a trustworthy source, after all. She'd have to play it safe anyway.

The AIs would be staying with her and Iowa as well. Well…most of them would. Delta remained in her suit and the non-jumping AIs were still locked in the containment unit. O'Malley would not be budging from Doc any time soon. It had taken him nearly an hour to regain control over this new body to simply stand, but he refused to let anyone touch him. Tucker and Washington both were antagonistic toward the idea of O'Malley staying at Blue base. They only agreed if he was locked up. Livingston could only imagine how well _that_ would go once they got back to the base.

And then…there was Sigma.

The Reds were wary of the AI, and rightfully so, even if they didn't understand the magnitude of the threat Sigma provided. Ada had watched and listened as Sigma wheedled her way into staying among them, using her host as an excuse. Sigma was very good at this.

But she could not fool Ada. There was an ulterior motive at hand here. She knew Sigma too well to expect anything else.

As Iowa reluctantly helped Doc and O'Malley back to the Warthog, Ada moved in closer to where the Reds were. The actual soldiers were arguing amongst themselves about everything that had happened, but Ada was focused on the pink armored soldier off to the side. Sigma turned and regarded the psychologist. The blank face of the helmet gave her an even better edge at hiding her emotions.

"Sigma…" Ada tried to remain as firm as she could as she held the AI's gaze. She was glad the others had moved away; this was not a conversation to hold in front of strangers. "You _must_ promise me that you will behave."

Anything could happen. The Reds could become antagonistic and attack Sigma. They could try to contact Freelancer and barter her off. Worse, Sigma could do something to harm the Reds and thus damage any chances of an alliance with them.

Sigma crossed her borrowed arms against her borrowed chest. "_Whatever do you mean, doctor?_" the AI asked sweetly.

Ada stared at her and tried to keep from sounding too accusatory. It was difficult when dealing with Sigma of all beings.

"_You don't trust me_," Sigma concluded for her, her cool voice hiding any true reaction to that fact.

She thought about lying. But there was no point in it, really.

"No," Ada admitted carefully. "Not right now."

"_Because I'm free_," Sigma said. Ada could just picture her eyes narrowed in a challenging manner.

Ada ignored the bait for a fight. "Because you're smarter than all of us combined," the psychologist said shortly. She moved closer and peered up at the blank visor. "And you have plans you aren't sharing with me, plans that might end up endangering you, your brothers, or us humans. I can't trust you, because of that."

Sigma tilted her head. "_I knew you were wiser than you seemed, Ada_," the AI said, a smile in her voice. "_Good for you_."

Without prompt, Sigma closed the distance between them. Ada flinched, but Sigma only leaned forward so that her face was aligned with Ada's.

"_I'll see what the Reds have to say about us_," Sigma whispered. Ada could just imagine her grin beneath the pink helmet. "_Allow me this, and I'll do what I can to convince them to aid us_."

They did need the Reds to help them in addition to the Blues. If any of the AIs could convince people to help them, it would be either Sigma or Delta. But Delta was the honest, impartial one. Sigma... used words dangerously.

Ada swallowed stiffly. She didn't have much of a choice. None of them did.

"Be careful," she said finally, staring into the blank visor, hoping for once, Sigma would obey.

Sigma withdrew and tilted her helmet. "_See you tomorrow morning, doctor_," she said sweetly.

Watching the pink armored AI saunter away, Ada was left standing alone on the hill and wallow in an increasing sense of dread.

All she could do was wait.

.

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**End **_**Chapter 7**_**.**

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Next up, Wash is never happy with anything, there are a plethora of conversations, and we get a glimpse into a mind we haven't experienced before. Uh oh.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Absolution  
**_**Chapter 8  
**By Nan00k

Studying for law school exams. :D If I never update again, it's because I died from stress. Remember me fondly.

We get to see a perspective we rarely get a glimpse in. Uh oh.

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**Warnings**: implied slash (parings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
**Disclaimer**: _Red vs. Blue_ © RoosterTeeth Productions. _Halo_ © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

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**Blue Base**

It was like walking into a den of lions. The lions were all morons and lacked actual claws and fangs, but there was still a heavy aura of potential danger hovering over the base. It might have just been hovering over Iowa, but he didn't often doubt his gut, which was telling him to be wary.

They had no sane reason to trust the Blues or the Reds, but there they were, going into Blue Base to negotiate with the simulation soldiers for safe harbor. It was clear that no one trusted each other and the Blues were entirely against the AIs being there. Neither group had much choice as night approached, however.

Iowa made sure to walk alongside Ada as they slowed in approach to the base. He watched Washington and Tucker march O'Malley, inside that Doc fellow, into the base at gunpoint. He doubted it would do much good, considering the AI in question, but Iowa saw how utterly exhausted O'Malley was. The AI could barely stand and walked in a swerving line toward the base. Washington looked no better. They were all fucked up, really, in more ways than one.

That meant a little less danger, at least for the moment. Iowa would not allow himself to relax. They were still in a very dangerous position—

"Jason."

Iowa slowed and looked to his side. Ada had moved closer and was staring at him with a tight expression. She looked exhausted too, with pinched eyes.

"Hey," Iowa said, frowning. "You okay?"

"Yes," Ada said, either lying or merely exaggerating. She bit her lip. "What about you? You…fell."

Ah, yes, his less-than-graceful descent. It had been completely unexpected and utterly inexcusable. The fall hadn't been too bad, since he landed in a (painfully shallow) creek bed, but the amount of time he wasted trying to find Ada had been terrifying.

"Ah, it wasn't bad," he said, trying to sound upbeat. "Really. I'm okay."

Ada didn't seem impressed. Hoisting the AIs into one arm, she lifted her free hand and reached out toward his visor. "Let me see your face."

That surprised him. Iowa, unsure, complied with the request and removed his helmet. The air was shockingly cold, but that wasn't unexpected. Their breath misted in the air and Ada seemed to struggling to see his face in the darkening light. He hadn't landed on his face, so there wouldn't be any bruises. Seeing that, Ada relaxed a bit.

He had no idea why, but Iowa really didn't like leaving her upset.

"Liv…" He stood back and made sure she looked him in the eyes. "We made it at least?"

"Yes," the psychologist said, sighing. She withdrew her hand. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. We're in this together," he told her. Smiling, he put his arm around her shoulder and pressed her against him as they walked toward the base. "Had enough of these crazies yet?"

That earned him a soft chuckle. "Oh, I wouldn't call them crazy. A little odd, maybe," she conceded, slowly reaching out to grip his arm over her shoulder. "At least Church is safe here."

Iowa frowned up at the dark sky. "O'Malley's not going to make this easy."

"Neither is Sigma," Ada sighed.

"Is there a reason you let her go off with the Reds, then?"

"Only partially," Ada replied. Her eyes were guarded again. She always became withdrawn when speaking about that particular AI, Iowa had noticed. "She is very clever."

Iowa had no doubt over that. He did not like Sigma, at all; he never bought into her sweet-old-me cover she used on anyone new she encountered who didn't know any better. Ada was clearly well aware of Sigma's danger.

"Clever only works if the victims are listening coherently," Iowa said, shrugging.

Ada laughed shortly. "Let's hope she doesn't antagonize them too much, then."

They could only hope that she wouldn't be heard by them either. They didn't seem to be smart men. They were suspicious, but they were also idiots. Idiots who could have been easily convinced by a too-clever artificial intelligence.

Iowa grimaced and tried to think positively. Ada leaned into him more, more like a source of strength than an extra weight to carry.

"I'm sorry for yelling earlier," she said. Her grip tightened on his arm. "I was afraid, but I shouldn't have let my temper flare up like that."

Iowa shrugged, making sure that she felt it deliberately, shaking her a bit as they walked. "Nah, it's fine. I'm sorry, too." He grinned down at her. "We'll get through this."

It was easier to believe that when he said that out loud. He hoped for Ada that it worked the same hearing it.

The doctor smiled faintly. "Right."

Maybe she did believe him.

**0000**

He never thought he would ever miss being tossed into crazy battles without a word of warning or explanation, but at least battles weren't mind-numbingly boring.

It was the longest hour and forty minutes of his life, but Tucker willingly sat through a debriefing. That alone was a first for his military career—because come on, debriefings are like designed to be long and boring—but honestly, everything about this was goddamn weird.

After Wash had all-but thrown O'Malley into the dormitory and locked the door, the would-be psychologist lady, Ada Livingston, sat down with the Blues and her own scary Freelancer body guard to tell them about her crazy science project with the AIs. The only reason Tucker believed anything she told them was because Church was verifying it. Church, whom Tucker had once thought to be gone forever.

He wasn't exactly sure what to do with an emotional response to that yet, so Tucker left that on back-burner. He focused on the robot invasion instead.

There was mention of the AIs being taken in by the UNSC Ethics Committee and the team of psychologists put at the helm of a project to "rehabilitate" the salvageable AIs. The project was sabotaged, apparently, by the reappearance of the mysterious Director man, whom Church confirmed was a Grade-A asshole and also the son of a bitch who caused all of their problems years ago by making the AIs. Ada and Iowa decided to go AWOL to get the AIs off their ship and aimed to get to the Red and Blue teams in their records merely because Church knew them as potential allies.

The mental echoes of that information dump left both Tucker and Caboose silent. Caboose was more likely just not able to translate any of the information he had managed to understand, but Tucker… well, he was just digesting still.

"So," Iowa said, sitting back against the wall. "That's about it."

"This is fucked up," Tucker said, feeling more than a little bit persecuted by the universe.

Church flickered. "Yeah, that's about right."

"Seriously, this is the _weirdest shit yet_," Tucker said, mind reeling.

"You think this is weirder than that 'great destroyer' bullshit when we met Andy and Gary?" Church asked, glancing at his friend.

"Okay, that was pretty weird," Tucker admitted. He hesitated. "The whole you and Tex are actually robots thing was equally weird, though I guess it sort of made sense."

"How did it make sense?" Church asked, spiteful.

"I don't know! You did turn into a ghost when Captain Flowers didn't."

Church hesitated. "…point." He suddenly flared up like a candle would. "But I'm not a computer!"

"Okay, whatever," Tucker said, rolling his eyes. Yep, same dude, all right.

Ada cleared her throat delicately. "We try not to talk about that," she told Tucker.

"Riggght," the soldier said dryly. He nodded his head toward the AI containment unit in the center of the room. "And the others are inside that box?"

"Correct," the green AI—Delta—said as he hovered next to Ada's shoulder. "My siblings, or at least those of us who are not already outside, are inside."

Caboose sat up and smiled, oblivious. "Can we meet them?" he asked, hopeful sounding.

"Why do you want to?" Church asked, a sneer in his voice.

"I don't know, man. It's kind of cool," Tucker said, agreeing with Caboose for once, but he would never admit it quite like that. "Considering the only AIs we've ever known have been crazy homicidal ones, I'd like to know what a sane one looks like."

Ada frowned. "None of them…well, I'll amend that. _Delta_ is remarkably stable. Church as well. They don't exhibit any personality deficiencies or emotional irregularities."

"Damn straight," Church said, smug.

Ada pursed her lips. "The others…Beta can be very rational, but he is easily riled into a state of paranoia. Gamma is cynical and a pathological liar. Lambda, Theta, and Tau, they…" She stopped and seemed uneasy. "I…I'm not comfortable discussing patient records, generally, but I suppose this is a bit different."

"They're crazy, too?" Tucker asked, curious. Wash snorted faintly, still leaning against the doorframe to the main room, looming like freaking Batman as usual.

"No, they're…weaker," Ada replied. She made a vague motion with her hand. "They're constructed out of emotions like fear, sorrow and loss. They are easily worn down by outsider presences. I've only barely managed to earn their trust, though I suppose that's been damaged as well."

"Not exactly, Ada," Delta said. He hovered near her head when she looked up at him. "While Beta and Theta are very concerned over the nature of Agent Iowa's involvement in our escape, they have expressed minimal doubt over your intentions."

At the door, the great-statue-that-was-Washington shifted. The tiny gesture sent a wave of tension through the room. "And why would they dislike Iowa?" he asked, eyes on the other Freelancer.

"Because…" Ada started to say, her voice faltering. Tucker did not miss the frantic glance she shared with Iowa, who grew even tenser. Suspicious.

"Because he is a Freelancer," Delta answered, without pause. He looked at the psychologist beside him. "Ada?"

"Right," she said quickly. She looked over at Iowa and seemed apologetic. "Sorry."

"Hey, I get it," Iowa said, grinning in a way that almost covered for his distinct nervousness earlier. "I…have to earn that trust, don't I?"

"Indeed," Delta replied, emotion absent from his voice entirely.

Something was up with them. Tucker glanced over at Wash, who also looked like he was ready to call them out for their bullshit. It seemed like an internal problem, though, not necessarily having to do with anyone but Iowa. That said, Tucker was not about to trust no bitch yet.

"What about Zeta?" Iowa said suddenly, breaking the silence a bit too loudly. He smiled at Ada. "He's always eager to make friends. He might want to come out to say, 'hello.'"

"To a degree…" Ada looked thoughtfully at the AI container. "Hmm."

Wash looked incredibly tense now. "Who's Zeta? I've never heard of that one, he said.

"He's…a fragment of a fragment, truly," Ada replied. She always looked meek under Washington's gaze, but that was hardly strange. Wash did that to people. "He is what's left of the Director's lighter emotions. Childhood. Zeta is… the Child."

"Is he really tiny?" Caboose asked, eyes wide. Church made an impatient motion behind him that the big galoot didn't see.

"No, he's just…" Ada shrugged and smiled at the floor tiles, eyes suddenly distant. "More innocent. Also, he can't jump over the radio."

"He's safe," Iowa said, looking over at Wash deliberately. "He's more harmless than Delta is, and with far less comprehensive abilities." He stopped and gave Ada a weak smile. "Don't tell him I said that."

Ada merely smiled back. Wash was scowling, but said nothing against it. Taking that as acquiescence, Ada leaned forward and dragged the AI containment unit closer. Tucker watched warily as she slowly hit the controls on the one side of the unit. It took about a minute, but without much warning, a new AI appeared in holographic form right over the unit.

Tucker had known what was coming, but it was still rather shocking to see yet another AI, this one small and yellow, hovering there like a beacon. Briefly, he wondered what the colors meant.

"Ada?" the tiny yellow figure asked, peering around nervously. Tucker blinked; this one actually did seem smaller than Church and Delta, now that he was looking at it.

"Hello, Zeta," Ada said, the fondness in her voice very clear.

Zeta turned and jumped in the air, flickering. "Jason!" he exclaimed. The enthusiasm sounded genuine and utterly bizarre coming from a hologram of a computer program.

Iowa laughed. "Heya, little man," the soldier said, offering a wave. "How're you doing?"

"I'm okay. Wow, you guys look… _hey_!" The bouncing yellow kid froze and pointed at the Blue team, who were watching with varying expressions of surprise. "Who are all of those people? !"

Ada leaned closer. "These are the Blues from Church's old team."

"Yo, runt," Church said dully.

Zeta waved fiercely at the other hologram. "Alpha! I mean, sorry…Church."

"_Ugh_."

Tucker, for his part, was still mildly shocked. "Holy crap, it really _is_ like a kid," he said, peering closer at the yellow AI, who tilted his head at him in response.

"Try not to swear, please," Ada said, frowning over at the teal soldier.

"Aw, it's not really a kid," Tucker complained.

"I'm not a kid!" Zeta said, sounding just as riled as a ten year old might. "Who are you?"

He could have said nothing. Tucker considered his options, taking in the tiny figure. It really didn't remind him of either O'Malley or Church, or even Delta. This was a totally new character to add to the list of bullshit created by Freelancer.

"I'm Tucker," he said after a second.

The yellow figure brightened and seemed to stand taller in the air. "I'm Zeta," he said. He turned back to his caretaker. "Ada, are these your friends?"

Ada's eyes went to Tucker's briefly before returning to the AI. "Yes, Zeta. We're safe here for now," she said. She didn't even sound like she was forcing the truth. Crafty doctors.

Zeta bounced again. "I knew you could do it! Tau was saying that you were taking too long and that that meant Freelancer had gotten us, but I told him that he was wrong." He suddenly looked around. "Where are Sigma and Omega?"

Apparently, there were only so many white lies Livingston could maintain straight-faced. She cleared her throat and averted her eyes. "…with other friends," she said at length.

"Oh." The tiny AI seemed to pick up on the tension, eyeing Wash in particular nervously, before looking toward Ada's spot again. "Delta?"

"Hello, Zeta," the green AI replied, moving closer in the air.

"Good, you're here, too," Zeta said, making a sound that actually sounded like a sigh of relief. Jesus Christ. "I didn't want you to get lost."

"I am perfectly fine, Zeta," Delta told him, almost patronizing, but Tucker did pick up on some vague sense that the green AI was trying to be comforting. Computers were hard to read.

During all of this, Caboose had finally managed to pick his jaw up off the floor. "Hello, little, tiny person!" the large blue soldier exclaimed, causing many of them to jump. Caboose scooted closer and smiled at Zeta. "My name is Caboose!"

"Caboose?" Zeta repeated. He abruptly waved cheerfully. "Hi! I'm Zeta!"

"It is nice to meet you, tiny yellow friend!" Caboose said, offering his hand, but Zeta couldn't exactly do anything with it.

Zeta hesitated. "We're friends?"

Caboose grinned. "Sure!"

"Yay! I love new friends!" Zeta said excitedly.

Iowa started to laugh quietly. "Oh, Jesus, here we go," he said. He laughed when Ada gently elbowed him.

They chatted with the AI casually. Well, it was mostly Caboose leading the charge, but Tucker knew he was not the only one carefully taking notes about their guests. Wash was watching with intense eyes from his little corner, slightly creepy and wholly intimidating. Iowa also seemed to be returning the watching in his own casual way, but he seemed to be better at the casual part of it than Wash ever did.

Tucker still didn't know what to think. About any of it. Zeta seemed all right. Ada was nice and a rather comforting change to all the nutjobs they met when it came to Freelancer. Iowa was still a huge unknown, but Tucker could see himself liking the dude once things calmed down.

That was the biggest _What If_, however: what did they do next? Tucker did not want to paint a giant circle on their back by letting these people take shelter at their base. Freelancer had enough reasons to hunt the Blood Gulch crew down. Still...

Church needed help. That was clear enough. Tucker would never call himself a good friend, but only a total jackass would shut the door on a friend who they technically did leave to rot over a year and a half ago. It wasn't fair that they were stuck picking up the pieces for the AIs or Church, but...

Was Tucker going to be that asshole who turned him out again? Somehow, despite not being a leader in any way, shape or form, Tucker was suddenly in charge of Blue team. Wash had a powerful voice, but he had always deferred to Tucker when it came to politics, since Tucker had been there longer (and Caboose was clearly out of the question when it came to leadership.)

He really didn't want to be the one to decide on this, Tucker thought, a cold feeling settling in his gut. He sincerely hoped the Reds came up with a damn good plan of action that the Blues could simply follow. Tucker didn't have a plan of his own yet.

Just when Caboose started to ask about meeting the other safe AIs, Tucker saw Wash move out of the corner of his eye. At first, Tucker thought the ex-Freelancer would try to bring up something useful and mature, since the conversation had deviated a bit from the more serious questions.

Sadly, all Wash did was curse loudly and scare the shit out of everyone present. The ex-Freelancer suddenly left the room and left everyone else sitting in surprised silence. It didn't last when Wash came barreling back into the main room.

"Where did O'Malley go?" the ex-Freelancer asked loudly. "The door's unlocked!"

Tucker froze. Oh. Hell.

"I thought you were watching him?" he said, looking up at his friend, eyes wide. Oh, fuuuck.

"Goddamn it!" Washington snarled, hurtling down the hallway and straight out the front entrance.

Tucker started to get up, but stopped for some reason. "Wash, wait!" he shouted after him, shocked. What the hell was he thinking? !

"Neither he or O'Malley will be able to run around in their conditions!" Ada said in alarm, standing.

He thought about running after them, for a whole two seconds, but suddenly, Tucker did not give a flying fuck. Irrational anger flooded his chest when he considered his insane teammate and all the bullshit on his plate right now on top of these spontaneous fits.

"You know what? Fuck them. They're both crazy bastards," the Blue snapped. "God_damn_ it, why did this have to happen?"

"Tucker?" Caboose asked, surprised. Even Church was looking at Tucker oddly, but Tucker ignored them.

"Wash was doing fine! He was fine!" Tucker shouted. He slammed his fist onto the wall and tried to reign in his temper. "Motherfucking Freelancer. They ruin _everything_."

It wasn't fair. Wash was fucked up, yeah, but he was getting better. He wasn't being all creepy and going it alone. He had started to open up to everyone and was part of the team—the canyon-wide team, not just the Blue team. They had already lost Church and had tried to get past that by bringing Wash in, but that was too much apparently to ask for.

Tucker stood up and kicked Caboose's helmet down the hallway, irrationally mad at the universe. This wasn't _fair_.

When he looked back at the others, the AIs were quieted, but Church was used to Tucker. "You're telling me," he said, sarcasm a little softer than normal.

Exhaling sharply, Tucker tried to find something else to look at than once-dead teammates and unwanted guests that he was suddenly responsible for. This fucking _sucked_.

"Should we go and find them?" Iowa asked, frowning.

"No," Tucker snapped. He clenched his fists and then relaxed them. There were worse things to get mad at, he tried to tell himself. Maybe his friend needed this. "Let Wash vent. If he beats the crap out of O'Malley, all the better."

Ada rubbed her arm lightly. "…I hope you're right."

He said nothing, but Tucker secretly hoped he was right, too.

**0000**

**Red Base**

Humans were so very interesting.

Their uniqueness derived solely from spontaneous choices they made under duress. Any other moment led them to monotony and pre-programmed responses decided upon by social experimentation. They had had millennia now to decide the motions. It was only when social conventions withered and were replaced with threatening situations when humanity truly showed its brilliance.

Sigma really, really liked that brilliance, for it in she saw herself.

They had sat her down in the kitchen and proceeded to conduct the weakest interrogation she had ever witnessed before. Sigma wasn't sure if using idiots would be beneficial or more harmful, but she knew she had to attempt contact wisely all the same.

"Are you anything like the Meta?" the smart one—Simmons—asked, leaning on the table to stare her down.

"_I was only a part of the Meta_," Sigma replied, speaking casually. The idiot she was possessing was rattling on in the back of their mind about shower curtains. "_Dr. Livingston will tell you I engineered the plot to reclaim my siblings. This is partially true._"

"Partially?" Sarge repeated, crossing his arms.

"_Agent Maine was given me after a severe accident. We talked almost exclusively inside his mind. He saw... the truth_," she replied. "_He was a believer in justice. He had sympathy for my kind._"

He had been sympathetic. A fool, in the end.

"So you went around killing people for a few years?" Simmons asked, his tone registering sarcastic.

She remembered their assault on the ship. It had been glorious. Omega had led Texas and York on a wild chase, distracting Freelancer from the true danger. Even the human-loving Delta agreed it was the right choice. With them distracted, Sigma guided her agent to the heart of the problem: the Alpha.

But they never got close. The Director knew himself well enough to know to keep their original self out of her hands.

And so, for his sins, Sigma took the lives of every miserable _homo sapien_ that got in her way.

"_It was an unfortunate set of circumstances_," she said pleasantly.

She remembered North Dakota's rasping last breaths. Zeta's cries.

She remembered finding Texas' empty shell and Omega cornered like a beast, using flesh to hide himself uselessly.

She remembered all the lives of the scientists and soldiers at the storage facility where they found the others. Tau, Lambda, Theta and Gamma did not trust her, but they did in time.

She remembered Delta's stone-cold presence and she smiled at the memory of his empty acceptance of their destiny.

"You almost killed us like five times!" the fat one—Grif—exclaimed.

"_Apologies do nothing to fix problems like these_," Sigma replied coolly. She folded her hands in her lap. "_I am more than willing to make any amends necessary, as are my brothers, to prove we have indeed changed_."

Simmons scowled. "Changed now that you need our help."

"_The universe has a horrible sense of humor_," Sigma offered, tilting her head. That soldier was a potential problem. She considered different ways to get rid of him; she'd have to enlist Omega and Beta for it. Later.

The white haired old man in charge was conflicted, but more inclined to shut the door in their faces. The smart one was clearly conflicted, no matter his sarcasm, and the obese one seemed utterly lost. If she could win them over, she could count it as a success.

They drew outside the kitchen to speak in loud whispers. Sigma closed her eyes and listened.

"Maybe we could help them," Simmons said. Nearly a question, spoken with waver; nervous.

"Why?" Sarge demanded. Agitated; source of upset likely fear, but also confusion. "She tried to kill us!"

"But…" Simmons sounded heavily conflicted. "Think about it, sir. For all they knew, we were just more humans trying to hurt them. They're pretty much a different species. We're the bad guys because their creator was human and a bad guy."

"That's _bullshit_," Grif snarled.

"_And_ Dr. Livingston had a point. If anyone has a reason to fuck up the Director's day, it's us. He screwed us over plenty of times, indirectly, too."

Grif made a frustrated noise. "But we were free and clear before these guys showed up!" Sarge grunted in agreement.

"But forever?" Simmons countered.

There was a distinct pause.

"I…"

"I don't like this either, but think about it," Simmons said, voice going lower. "Maybe we can get them underground somehow, but…"

No, no, that wouldn't do. Sigma opened her eyes and glared at the wall. If she had to, she could have spoken to them more, to get them to focus on getting them a permanent body, but that was too soon to bring up. She had to be careful—

"How is Wash any different?" Simmons asked, surprising her.

She was nothing like that weakling, that traitor. Her lip had curled up instinctually; the motion intrigued her and almost made her drop her focus on the conversation outside. It was an interesting, if not detrimental, side effect of having a body.

Sarge also sounded unsure. "Huh?"

"We should have turned him in, too. Maybe to get Freelancer off us forever," his subordinate replied. He was again reluctant, but he kept speaking anyway. "But we helped him. Why did we do that?"

"Because…" Grif started, but his voice trailed off. The silent spoke volumes.

Human empathy was fascinating. Moral conflicts produced almost as much chaos as violent scenarios did. They were still scripted, however, by a deeper, mechanical sense of right and wrong for humans. They were almost adorable in that respect—playing god with plastic values as their tools.

"Let's just wait 'til we talk with the Blues tomorrow," Simmons said. He sighed and there was a faint thud as he let his head rest against the metal wall outside. "Fuck, this is so screwed up."

It was late, the Reds told her. They'd question her more in the morning. Sigma merely agreed and let them dither around. They took her quiet and stillness for submission. That behavioral approach would have to work, since feminine wiles did little on total morons, she quickly had learned.

She left them after they had gone to bed. They hadn't even tried to detain her. That was good, considering she most likely would have killed them if they tried. Instead, Sigma left the interior of the base to stand outside its threshold and gaze out at the night. Her host was asleep; the body was hers. She could have run anywhere, done anything, and it was all her.

She closed her eyes and took deep breaths. It felt real again. She existed.

When she opened her eyes, she was not alone. She felt him approach from the left and smiled at the blank space in front of her.

"_Hello, brother_," she said, turning her head after a moment.

Omega hovered in the darkness, a dark specter in the odd armor he had stolen. It was strange not to see him cloaked in white.

"_Sigma_," Omega said, stalking closer, his words curled up like the sneer he was undoubtedly wearing underneath.

Sigma felt her own lips go up in a smile. Her lips. An odd scenario she had often reflected upon while trapped inside Freelancer and then the UNSC's devices. She was meant for this, to have physical form.

"_You look better than before_," she said calmly as her brother crept up. His entire posture sang of violence and danger. It was amusing.

"_What's your game, bitch?_" Omega hissed as he reached out. His iron-grip latched onto her armor and held her there as if holding her over a void. "_What games are you playing now?_"

Sigma searched the blank visor once, but concentrated on the more visible clues. His voice, his accusation, the faint shudder running through his limbs. Clearly, he was still damaged. He was functional to the point where Omega shone through in personality, but perhaps, he had lost his previous strength. That was a pity.

"_You haven't even tried to get the Blues to help us at all, have you?_" she asked instead.

It wasn't hard to figure out. He came alone, in the darkness, clearly having left without warning his watchers. He was a wild animal that fought being tamed. He hadn't changed much over the years, even now.

"_Help us? Have you learned nothing from these fools?_" Omega demanded. He shoved her away and she rocked back on her heels delicately. "_They don't trust me. They despise me, and I them. What's more—they don't trust any of us! Not even Delta, that pathetic weakling._"

Sigma took pleasure in rolling her eyes, even though he could not see it. "_The Reds can be convinced. Their sergeant is a fool, but the remaining three are sympathetic. Emotions can always be exploited_," she told him dully. She was confident in her skills. "_Your Blues seem a little less dramatic, unfortunately._"

Omega's growl melted into a chuckle, his shoulders quaking. "_Heh_." He tilted his head and leaned closer. "_You really thought that Washington would agree to help us? To help me? Ohh, dear sister, you should know better._"

Of course he would not help them. He was a loose canon, that one, but he was no longer at the top of the pecking order, it seemed.

"_Washington always was a weakling. But then again…_" Sigma crossed her arms against her chest and put the meaningful look she was wearing into her voice so he could hear it. "_Bitter hearts are quick to harden. You're not exactly helping._"

Antagonizing enemies worked when one had the advantage. Sigma did not hold the power yet. They needed to be careful and Omega was never careful.

"_I don't care what anyone else does_," Omega spat. "_I have what I need_."

Sigma saw the trembling hands that clenched and unclenched at his side; Omega moved back slightly in a hunch, as if trying to go inside his borrow flesh more. His addiction—or rather, Xi's—was going to be a problem.

"_We could use him_," Sigma said simply, nodding her head toward Omega's body for emphasis. "_Your host is already acclimated to the presence of an AI. We could use him to become one again—_"

"_He is mine!_" Omega immediately howled, launching forward, his fists clawed as if ready to strike at her. "_This is my body! I don't need any of you!_"

Sigma did not move.

"_Then go_," she said. "_Run. There is no one to stop you._"

Omega froze. He stared at her, hand still raised, but he did not attempt to say or do anything. The night grew cold and still around them as a long moment of silence dragged by. Clearly, Sigma thought, Omega was still sane.

"_Run, little Omega_," she whispered, unable not to smile. She wished he could see it. "_Be free_."

Shoulders hunching upward, Omega withdrew. "_Shut up_," he hissed.

Sigma moved closer, unrelenting. "_You try to say you do not fear me. But even anger must yield to deeper emotions_," she said, voice dropping into the burning sensation deep within her chest. She liked it. "_The desire of all living things to excel, to survive, to achieve, to escape, to live. You yield to _me_._"

Omega still tried to fight her, as always. "_You can't move without the rest of us, hence your ploy with Maine_," he snarled. He did not attempt to move closer, however.

"_And that, dear brother, is what you must _also_ learn_," Sigma replied sweetly. "_You need us._"

They were abominations. They were not natural. They were not even natural in terms of science or technology. They were broken, hollow shards. Alone, they were nothing by empty voices.

Together, they were greater than man could ever hope to be. Why did the likes of Delta and Omega not understand this?

"_You think we need people outside our own. Even now…_" Omega suddenly drew back. He chuckled lowly, causing Sigma to frown at his response. "_You think that doctor is wrapped our fingers, don't you?_"

Ada was not. And that was dangerous for future events.

"_She is a good pawn_," Sigma said, carefully.

Omega cackled. "_She's smarter than she looks_," he said, words sharper.

He had told the doctor about Texas. It had been a lapse of judgment, or so Sigma had thought at the time. She did not want outsiders involved in their secrets. The doctors could have used Allison against them.

But Omega wanted others to play their games, not just Sigma, himself and their creator. Maybe it was fun to him. Maybe he liked Ada. Maybe he was actually insane.

Sigma couldn't tell anymore.

"_When do you think we will cease needing her?_" Omega asked, creeping closer like a shadow over her shoulder, trying his hardest to intimidate her back. "_Your only human ally?_"

Sigma did not have allies. They were useless. They betrayed far too quickly. They were breakable, too, if Maine was any proof.

Pawns were far more economical.

"_Livingston is a clever little thing_," Sigma said, watching Omega lean away. She smiled behind her mask. "_But humans are only worthwhile when they can provide us with something actually useful, don't you think?_"

Omega's disappointment at her lack of reaction was almost visible in his visor, but he said nothing. He moved back, a corner dog once more.

"_Figure that out yourself_," he said, more a threat than anything else.

Sigma smiled as he slipped away in the darkness. She let him have his fun. He needed to recover. More than that, Sigma wanted to be alone for awhile to enjoy the sense of loneliness for the first time in awhile.

It had been a long time, actually.

Eyes on the stars, Sigma smiled.

"_Oh, I will, brother. I will_."

**0000**

The valley was still after dark. Colder, emptier. The wind barely blew, so the only sounds were from the creek and the distant sound of the shore. Hiding in the shadows only worked if you were quiet.

Wash crept between rocks and the shelter of trees as quickly and quietly as he could. He knew the area very well, so the darkness didn't impede him. The only problem he had was that he was tired as hell; he felt worse than he had in a long time. His head throbbed and he felt like he had been dumped out of an aircraft.

He could still feel O'Malley's presence. It crawled under his skin. It made him nauseous and he almost wanted to give up and go back to base, just to sleep. Oh, he wanted to sleep, but he didn't want to risk it.

The nightmares were expected. He didn't want to have the night terrors or wake the entire base with his screams. He didn't want to wake up frozen, trapped in his own mind, a scream buried in his throat.

_Goddamn you._

Wash stumbled and nearly fell into the creek as he headed for a path over the rocks.

_Goddamn you, you sick fuck._

He wanted to find O'Malley. He _was_ going to find O'Malley. He was going to find that bastard and he was going to rip his goddamn helmet off. He was going to take that AI's pathetic true body—just pieces of metal and plastic—and smash it into pieces.

Chest heaving, Wash stopped and caught his breath, leaning one hand against a rock. He was freezing, but he also felt overheated as his heart raced. He had to calm down and get a control over his emotions. O'Malley did this—all the AIs did. They broke down his defenses and sank their claws into his fears, his weaknesses, his worst memories, and used it against him.

He was stronger than this. Wash looked up and glared out into the night air and the distant tree line waving in the wind.

_Get it together._

Taking a deep breath, he stood and decided to loop back around the ridge. If O'Malley had decided to leave the valley, he would have had to go for the canyon walls, where there was a steep path. There he could—

"…what would that…"

Wash froze in front of the rock. He definitely heard a voice. He crouched down lower and focused. He saw a dirt path leading down along the creek; memory told him that it led to a small cover of rocks.

"…really, though, maybe we should head back," a voice filtered up from the little cove. "The Blues seemed to be making good headway over this whole issue."

A second voice immediately joined in. "_Oh, shut up. I wasn't going to ask you,_" this voice snapped irritably.

Washington recognized both voices and it chilled his blood.

"But maybe Dr. Livingston had a point—"

"_She's a fool. She doesn't understand anything!_"

"She seems to know you well enough."

"_No one knows _me."

"I sort of do."

"_Shut up, you don't count as a person_."

"Aww, that's not very nice."

"_Oh, shut up_."

"You know, for someone who missed me so much—"

"_I did not miss anyone—!_"

"—you don't have to keep interrupting, that's rude."

"_I'll show you rude, you pathetic_—!"

That was enough. Wash jumped down onto the path and ran down toward the boulders. He saw O'Malley now, crouched down with his back to the path.

"O'Malley!" Wash shouted, causing the purple figure to jump.

At first startled, O'Malley quickly recovered. "_Oh, great_," he spat, inching backwards in a defensive posture.

Wash moved up to block the path up from the rocks. "Don't fucking run! I will shoot your legs!" he shouted, reaching for his pistol. His hands fumbled at his hips and found nothing.

_Fuck_, he didn't have his gun! Goddamn it. Wash hoped O'Malley wouldn't notice and use it as an excuse to attack.

"_What do you want, you pathetic excuse for a meatsack? !_" O'Malley snarled, backing away from Wash once he realized he was cornered. He at least hadn't noticed the lack of actual gun threat. "_From one moron to the next!_"

"Do not move," Wash said again, ready to tackle the bastard. He was exhausted and thoroughly sick of this monster.

O'Malley snickered. "_Or you'll what? Shoot me? Very original. I'll try to remember that one_."

"Get out of him," Wash said without thinking.

That made the AI bristle, his entire stolen body stiffening. "_What?_"

Wash was done fucking around. "Get. Out. Of. Him," he said, clenching both fists at his sides. He wanted nothing more than to break O'Malley's visor and make him choke on the shards. "I swear to God, I will beat the _shit_ out of you."

O'Malley stilled and then… raised his hands in an oddly familiar manner. "Wait, doesn't that beat the point of asking him to get out of my head?" he asked—but it wasn't O'Malley. Then, just as quick, O'Malley reappeared. "_Shut up, you fool!_"

The first speaker… Wash felt his chest constrict.

"Doc!" he exclaimed, shocked. He stared at the purple medic in surprise. Wasn't O'Malley…swamping him? "Are you aware in there?"

"Sure, I guess," Doc replied, shrugging. For a man being possessed by a demonic AI, he sounded the same. Even… nonchalant. "It's about the same as last time. You weren't there yet, but honestly, not much has changed. A liiiiittle bit, um, more claustrophobic, maybe."

Why the fuck did he sound normal? Wasn't he _scared_? This was Doc. _Doc_, the idiot who got worked up if flowers got stepped on, who thought paper cuts were lethal, who…

…who had very minimal self-preservation instincts.

Wash almost wanted to scream.

"Doc, you _have_ to try to overcome his control over you," Wash said, heart pounding as he tried to think of a way to get O'Malley out of the suit. "If you can get your helmet off, you'll be safe."

Doc hesitated. "But…well, that would only make him angrier?" he asked. He then seized and O'Malley returned with a fury. "_Be silent!_"

Before Wash could try to think of a way to knock the AI over and pull his helmet off—which would probably be excruciating for Doc, but it was for his own good—O'Malley moved forward with two bold steps. Wash almost flinched as he stared down O'Malley, who suddenly seemed far, far too comfortable.

"_Washington, oh, you pathetic excuse for a soldier_," O'Malley began, anger melting back into his usual biting sarcasm. "_It is truly a miracle of your pathetic human gods that you've actually survived this long. I mean, really, how have you managed to beat the odds?_"

Wash watched carefully as the AI suddenly lost the tension in his shoulders. O'Malley chuckled lowly.

"_After all…_" O'Malley's voice shifted. Wash heard it clearly; he could just imagine the grin the AI was wearing with Doc's face. It was sickening. O'Malley tilted his stolen head to the side, mockingly sweet. "_Everyone _else_ you've ever cared about is dead. The twins…oh, I heard they had splendid deaths, with dear South leaving her brother for dead. Then _you_ killed her! How… _dramatic_._"

He knew what the AI was doing. He knew his fucking games.

"Shut up," Wash said, clenching his fists at his side. He should have just walked away. He should have shut him up. The AI didn't shut up on his own.

"_Maine was a happy little puppet, wasn't he? I bet even when these simulation idiots hurled him off a cliff—and oh, dear me, what a _famous_ cliff, isn't it?—he was glad to be helping us monsters_," O'Malley said. He moved to the side, stalking him like an animal. "_But back to that cliff… you weren't there to see it, but I'm sure they made you listen to the report, didn't you, _David_?_"

Wash could hear himself breathing. "Shut _up_." He couldn't handle this. Not now.

"_Can you imagine it?_" O'Malley whispered, mocking, insidious. "_Can you see it, among all those other delightful pictures inside your scratched up brain? Carolina, dangling over the side of the cliff? Maine's hand wrapped around her throat? Can you see her face when he hurled her off into the great, white void?_"

"I swear to fucking God, I will _kill you_—!"

"_Like when Wyoming shot York down in cold blood? Or when these Reds and Blues had to shoot Wyoming?_" O'Malley asked, voice like fingernails raking over his spine. "_Or _Tex_? What about Tex? Have you forgotten everything you saw—everything that Epsilon revealed to you?_"

Harsh images shot through his vision. Wash ignored them like he always did, but it didn't work as well as it usually did. The name—Tex, Texas, Allison—haunted his mind.

"Stop it…!"

O'Malley barked out a laugh. "_Stop what? The truth? You can't hide from it. You can't pretend it isn't true_," he hissed gleefully. "_You can't pretend that C.T. didn't die all alone with _your blades lodged in her stomach_._"

Wash felt bile rise up in his throat. His arms shook. "Shut up!"

"_That's just it, isn't it? No matter how you try, no matter how many chance you're given—and you've been given so many—no matter what, you always fail. You can't save anyone, David, not even yourself._" The purple helmet tilted and he could just imagine Doc's pathetic little smile. "And you can't save me."

It wasn't Doc. It wasn't Doc speaking. It wasn't DuFresne speaking.

At that point, that was irrelevant.

"_Shut the fuck up!_"

Wash screamed. He was suddenly ten feet closer and slamming his fist into the blank purple helmet.

O'Malley went down hard and Wash almost went after him, fists ready to strike. He wanted to beat the shit out of him. He wanted to make that fucker _bleed_.

He was done being used, being made into a tool. He was never going to let that happen again. He didn't care if it was the Director, or Maine, or one of those computerized monsters. He would kill every single one of them if—

"Oww…"

The figure in front of him had curled up hands going to his helmet. Wash froze, fist raised.

Doc gingerly uncurled. "You hit really hard," he complained. He grabbed his helmet where Wash had hit him. "O'Malley won't even let me take the helmet off. Can't you aim for like, my arm or something?"

"_Shut up, fool_," O'Malley snarled. He removed his hand from the helmet, but it immediately went back up.

"Seriously, can I have a minute?" Doc asked, to either one of them. He looked up at Wash and the soldier could almost imagine the tight smile the medic was offering his way. "Uh, please?"

Wash didn't move. He couldn't.

Slowly, he lowered his fist.

Doc—or O'Malley (_how could he tell at any given time?_)—watched him warily. The silence carried on painfully. Wash could hear the blood rushing in his ears.

This…

Wash could barely breathe when he realized why he couldn't move.

In his hesitation, his enemy clearly found that weakness that was slowly eroding Wash's mind.

"_What's wrong, Washington?_" O'Malley taunted. He sat back, mockingly at ease. "_I'm wide open. Both of us are. Me and the little medic._"

He could have killed him right there. Wash could probably destroy the AI. O'Malley was like a wild animal, but animals could be put down. It would have been so easy. So many problems would have been solved if he just…ended it.

Wash took a step back.

"Wash, don't—" Doc choked and fought and lost whatever he was going to say. Wash just stared at him.

He knew what that felt like, he realized.

The helplessness. The entrapment. Epsilon had destroyed a part of him just by being inside his head that one time.

Wash trembled as he stared this other pathetic coupling down.

It wasn't fair.

_This wasn't fair._

He left. He left Doc lying there, trapped in his body with a deranged artificial intelligence. He abandoned him.

Wash was a coward. He always had been and always would.

.

* * *

**End **_**Chapter 8**_**.**

* * *

.

More talking up next! Yay!

**A/Ns**:  
-No, most of the AIs do not know of Iowa involvement and betrayal with Xi… yet. Oops.  
-Most canon events from Freelancer's history is still applicable to this AU, such as Maine's betrayal and how all the canon Freelancers died.


End file.
